


Scarlett and Sweaters

by Coffee_Flavored_Kisses



Series: Scarlett and Sweaters [1]
Category: Jeremy Renner - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jeremy Renner - Freeform, Love Triangle, Multi, OT3, Smut, rennerson, scarlett johansson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:17:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 68,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses/pseuds/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lana Fillmore is a stylist who has been assigned to work alongside Jeremy Renner and Scarlett Johansson on their month-long press tour. Lana would do anything to see her favorite stars get together... until she finds herself having feelings for Mr. Renner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Three-Piece Suit

You want honesty? Okay, I think I can do that.

I hated my job. I mean, I loved it, but I hated it, you know? No, of course you don’t know… how can you? Let’s see if I can explain.

Every single working day, I got to dress him, run my fingers through his hair, straighten his tie around his neck, and make sure his clothes complimented his eyes. Ugh. I could write a book about those eyes…

But then I had to watch him with her; the way he stared at her, the way his eyes would travel all over her as she spoke to him. No, not in that way. Like he was looking at an endangered species or a rare work of art by one of the great masters. He adored her, and everyone knew it.

Everyone but her.

I’ve probably admired her as long as I’ve admired him, or maybe longer. One of my favorite movies is Scoop, and Scarlett really makes it what it is. She’s not just physically everything I wish in my wildest dreams that I could look like, but she’s also one of the most simplistically and universally talented actresses of our time. I really believe that.

And don’t get me started on all of the wonderful things about Jeremy.

So I loved it because I worked for him and basically got paid to look at him and touch him. But I hated it because I also got paid to watch him look at and touch her.

Some days were better than others. I mean, at least we always had a quick hello, which is more than I would have dreamt of being able to do just a couple years ago. He was always so good about making sure he said hello to everyone. And when he wasn’t on the phone with his agent or speaking with his assistant or reading a script, sometimes he’d ask me how my day was going. One time, he even told me he liked my dress.

But on the bad days, I had to listen to him telling Scarlett about his late nights and how he wished she had been available to hang out.

And on the really bad days, I had to hear him gushing about her to someone else.

There’s a certain level of discretion that comes with the job, of course. Whatever I hear has to stay with me., and any conversation we have is between us and only us. If I hear him telling someone the big surprise ending of a movie, I have to keep my mouth shut. If he tells me in passing something about his house or his family, I can’t repeat it. And if I catch a glimpse of him naked (accidentally, of course) while he is changing into whatever I’m making him wear for that particular occasion, I have to act like it never happened.

And that might be the hardest part of the job.

I knew he wasn’t admitting to his feelings about her to anyone, because he was always bragging about some “blonde in a purple dress” or “this chick at the titty bar” when he was talking about his dating life with someone. But when he sat next to her and watched her as he spoke, when his eyes traced the outline of her nose or wandered to her hair and gazed at her blonde locks in a dreamy haze, I saw it. Hell, everyone saw it.

Everyone but her.

They were the very best of friends, and speaking from my own experience, I know it must have been killing him. Often they would hug or exchange a peck on the cheek, even walking arm-in-arm when she made the mistake of wearing heels when she knew she’d be doing a lot of walking.

If I had been her stylist, I would have made her wear flats always, so that she would never need to hold on to him. Only I think he would have found a reason to hold on to her anyway.

And I think she would have been okay with that.

Anyway, as I was saying, they were close. He was with her all the time, and she obviously loved the time they shared. She never held a straight face for too long or went too far ahead of him while they walked. He had jokes to tell, I suppose. And they must have been funny. Or she must have at least thought they were.

Some days I wanted to shake her and tell her to wake up and see what he was really doing when he spoke with her. He was communicating his feelings the best way he knew how with her. And he lit up – not just his face, but everything about him – and he carried an aura around him when he was with her. The feelings he had for her were all but oozing from him. It couldn’t have been more plain that he loved her if he walked around with a sandwich board around his neck that had “I LOVE SCARLETT” written in bold, black letters.

But she didn’t see it.

I had worked with Jeremy once before and with Scarlett twice, but this was the first time I worked with them while they toured together. Flight after exhausting flight, 24/7, non-stop around the world, they promoted their new movie. Personally, I loved the movie, but critics kept bashing it, saying it would be a failure since it wasn’t a Marvel movie. They are both fully capable of other things people! If they want to do a romantic movie together, let them!

Sorry, I get carried away. Where was I?

Oh, right.

Anyway, they were traveling extra promoting this movie to make up for the bad press. And that meant one or both of them had interviews just about every day for a month. And I would have the privilege of being there to keep Jeremy looking tip-top along the way.

I wasn’t his assistant or his personal trainer or the kind of person he would be spending countless hours with, but I was there with him every day. I had been the one who first put him in a multi-button vest for an interview, and he got such good feedback for it, he kept me on. That signature look of his, you know, the three-piece suit? I’m not gonna say I made that his look, but I will say that if you like the way he wears it, you have me to thank.

Tonight, night one of many, I dressed him in a more casual number for an evening in New York. Tonight, he would be having drinks and mixing with independent filmmakers talking about his movie. And of course, she would be there. She was wearing green, and he would have to compliment that.

I brushed the gray cable-knit sweater lightly with my hand before placing it on a hanger, and grabbing the coordinating pants, met him at his hotel room. This was always the nerve-racking part of the job.

“Hey, come on in,” he told me, making way so that I could enter. He was already entertaining guests, or maybe they were entertaining him. I stared at him sadly in his tattered jeans and black t-shirt as I handed him his evening clothes, and as he went back to his room to change, three pairs of eyes were suddenly on me, and I stood holding my left elbow in my right hand, turning my toes together, waiting for Jeremy’s return.

“You’re Lana, right?”

The guy who asked this was familiar somehow, though I couldn’t quite place him.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Fillmore.”

“Yeah, we met in Toronto last year,” he reminded me. “At the film festival.”

Then I remembered. Yes, we had met. He was the guy who spilled his old-fashioned over a balcony and got sued for assault. He had made quite the impression on me, and not in a good way.

“Peter Tannings,” I said out loud. “Yes, you’re a reporter, right?”

He chuckled. “Well, I was. I mean, I am, but I’m with a different magazine. I’m with Culture Shock magazine now.”

I shook my head. “Never heard of it.”

The other guys laughed at this while Pete’s face grew serious. I realized later that this was because the other two guys represented Rolling Stone and People. Culture Shock had nothing on those guys.

“We’re kind of up-and-coming,” he said in a defensive tone. “You’ll be hearing of us soon.”

I didn’t. Not ever again.

“You look familiar,” the guy from Rolling Stone said. “You worked with Jeremy before, right?”

“Yeah, in Cannes. Briefly.”

“He looks good,” he told me. “You do a good job.”

“You guys are here working right now?” I asked.

People Magazine looked at me and smiled. “Lana, we’re always working.”

Jeremy stepped into the room once again, now dressed in my hand-picked outfit and struggling to get the collar of the sweater to settle gently against his chest as it was designed to do.

“I told you to wear the green shirt under this,” I told him, approaching him and taking over. “Not black.”

“I didn’t like the green,” he told me.

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

His eyes hit mine as I finally helped his collar to behave. “No,” he answered with a smile. “But do you really want to redo the work you just put into getting this thing right?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes emphatically, though it was obvious he was just being playful as he suddenly reached a fist up to tap me in the shoulder. “Fine, I’ll change it. Hey guys, why don’t I meet you down there?”

The guys hugged him or shook his hand, depending on what kind of relationship they had with him, and they left as Jeremy turned back to his room to change. I was suddenly aware of how close we were, how intimate this suddenly was. After all, not many women can say they’ve been alone on a hotel room with Jeremy Renner.

I had known him for almost two years, seen him in a number of outfits in a number of cities on a number of different occasions, but every time I saw him in something I picked out especially for him, it never ceased to strike me just how amazingly gorgeous he is. I’ve worked with men who were classically better looking, more popular, more rich and more famous, but never was anyone so handsome on the outside while being so completely and perfectly beautiful on the inside. I mean, the guy was a fucking saint, pardon my French.

“Was this what you had in mind?”

“Exactly,” I told him, trying to sound less randy than he was actually making me.

“Shoes?” he asked, pointing to his bare feet, his unusually long toes curling up away from the floor.

I peeked into his closet and found a stunning pair of black leather shoes I had chosen for him ages ago. “You can’t fail with these,” I smiled. “And I assume a grown man such as yourself has a pair of black socks already?”

He nudged me, playfully and with a smile again, and pulled a pair from his top dresser drawer. “Right here, kid.”

I waited while he put them on, standing several feet away, but keeping my eyes glued on his actions. Only he could make the act of tying shoes into something purely pornographic.

He knew the routine. He seated himself on the window seat, and I pulled the product and combs from my bag, running my fingers full of gel through his hair, pulling it up almost roughly, forming it into a shape that might have seemed shabby and sloppy at first, but was ultimately exquisite.

“Ah,” he smiled, looking into the mirror, “I see you’ve given me the ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look.”

“It looks good on you,” I told him. And man, was that ever the truth.

“I always trust you,” he smiled, maybe a bit begrudgingly.

“Well I’m always right.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Go ahead and be cocky. One of these days you’ll be wrong.”

“Need anything else?” I asked as I gathered my bag and headed to the door.

He hemmed and hawed as he grabbed his rings from the counter and rolled them on. As they slid up his fingers, slowly, carefully like he applied them with a science, all I could think about were all of the other things I would love to see him do with those fingers. All the things he would love to do to Scarlett, I suppose.

“I think that’s everything,” he smiled. “Thanks, lady.”

And that was it. I made him look good for the party, but I wouldn’t get to go to it. I never got to go to the parties. But knowing he would be there, impressing people with his dashing good looks that maybe I can only take partial credit for, I felt proud of what I did.

Even though he dressed for her.


	2. The Man's Got A Crush

Scarlett is so much more than the lovely siren steaming on the set of every movie she steps into. She is more than a talented actress. She has one of those personalities one might become addicted to. She is real and honest in everything she does, never bullshitting others to make herself look better. And the occasions on which I meet these types of people in my line of work are few and far between.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t get to work with her directly very much on this press tour. She had her own stylist, a very shy older man named George. I think he was French. Anyway, I would only occasionally consult with her and George (mostly the latter) to make sure she and Jeremy wore complimentary outfits. And sometimes she would ask me for a second opinion if she was proving a point to George.

I instantly saw why people love her. She isn’t like all the other actresses who spend their time stressing over making the perfect appearance or who spend thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours devoted solely to making themselves look like thy fit into the strict standards Hollywood sets for females in the business. She was humble and funny and sweet and never, not once, did she say anything she didn’t really, truly mean. She was effortlessly beautiful, in or out of makeup and gowns, and her laugh, a laugh employed often in Jeremy’s presence, carried with it a contagion I believe everyone around her hoped to catch.

"Don’t put me in the damn polka dots again, George,” she smiled to him when he grabbed a spotted cocktail dress from her enormous wardrobe. “Can’t we change it up a bit?”

I stood along the sidelines, watching them argue and decide in a chemistry that worked for them, and I waited on the verdict so that I could choose something suitable for my boss.

“Oscar de la Renta,” he announced, pulling a short pink floral dress. “This is you, my darling!”

She smiled, miles long it seemed, and ran the silk material through her fingers seductively. “Now you’re talking.”

“So we’re decided on the pink, then?” I asked, taking notes so that I could make a proper choice.

“Unless you don’t like it,” she frowned at me, hanging on my words, waiting for my opinion as if I was worthy of giving one.

“I love it,” I told her with a sincere smile. “I know exactly how to work with that.”

She nodded. “Oh but don’t put him in brown, okay? I mean, not to tell you how to do your job, but it’s just not a color that does him any favors.”

“I was planning on something in a light shade of blue, actually,” I told her.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I promise I’m not a bitch. I really wasn’t telling you how to do your job.”

"Oh, I know!” I smiled to her. God, even I was falling in love with her.

“You want some coffee?” she asked me. “It’s fresh.”

I declined, though it was awfully tempting to stay and chat with her. But I needed a bit of time to put the ensemble together for the evening’s festivities. This would be the last social gathering before flying out to Europe for the international promotions, and again he would have to look sporty and fresh, and these aren’t exactly the looks he’s known for.

I found Jeremy talking about architecture with a man I didn’t recognize, and he barely noticed I was there at all when he grabbed the garment bag from my hand.

I waited as he changed, and he was still yelling through the wall to his friend as I stood idly by, waiting to approve his overall appearance. His friend, about my age I suppose, with red curly hair and a face full of scruff, chewed on an unlit cigar and combed through his hair with his fingers. I could only stand, wondering when I could leave this uncomfortable room. But waiting for Jeremy was both a torturous habit and an enjoyable experience.

He emerged, straightening his necktie and arguing lightly about gothic versus something-or-other, and I half-listened while I played with the top button and handed him his belt. I couldn’t help but watch his hands fastening the buckle, running along the leather. The mixture of his hands, rough and rigid, and the black leather, soft and strong… it made me cry internally at how beautiful the man was.

He wore a pair of brown loafers that he picked out himself, and I decided to comb his hair a little neater than he’d worn it the night before. This party was just a little more posh, and besides, it took a little longer to style, and I loved working on his hair.

“Well, let’s agree to disagree,” he told his friend. “Point is, no matter which actually looks better, you’ll definitely get a better price if you go for the modern look.”

“I better get to Sharon,” the friend answered, checking his watch. “Wanna take a car together?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said. The friend rushed out the door and once again we were alone. That this was two nights in a row that this happened was rare, and believe me I wasn’t complaining.

I combed through his thick hair, standing so close in front of him, I was practically straddling him, and I pulled the hair up and over, methodically placing it into an almost pompadour. His eyes, unable to look forward since that’s where my boobs were, unable to look down since that would be even more inappropriate, looked up to me, and I caught him looking. He smiled, trying to make something so uncomfortable into something more familiar. “How are you today, Lana?”

“I’m good, Jeremy,” I smiled. I wished I had the strength and self-control to look him in the eyes, but I would have melted, stuttered, made a complete and total fool of myself if I had. “How are you?”

"Tired. These late nights are killing me.”

“They’ve only just started,” I reminded him. “What are you gonna do when this is still happening a couple weeks from now?”

“Botox, I suppose,” he joked. “Or whatever you use on under-eye bags.”

“Oh please don’t be one of those,” I told him.

He chuckled, still looking up at me. I knew his eyes had nowhere else to be, and I was actually becoming better at dealing with him looking at me like this when we were close.

I finished, pleased with the result, and I packed up my bag. “Anything else?”

“Actually,” he stopped me, “Have you seen Scarlett today?”

Ugh. I knew this would come up in conversation sooner or later.

“Yes,” I answered. “I had to go by her room earlier.”

“Okay,” he nodded. I saw that he was pacing, probably wondering if he should say anything.

“Why do you ask?”

He stopped pacing, and he turned to face me. He looked me dead in the eye, which I didn’t expect, and he smiled with the corner of his mouth. “It’s… nothing.”

I stayed there, knowing I had to. Knowing he needed me to.

“She…” he started asking some sort of question, but paused.

“She told me not to dress you in brown,” I told him, hoping maybe my suggestion would help him feel like he could talk to me, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear him talk about her. “She said it doesn’t suit you.”

He released a smile that had probably been trying to escape since he first said her name. “She said that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. She knew I was coordinating your outfits and she wanted to make sure I didn’t choose to pick up on the brown tones.”

“She’s okay with blue, though?”

If I said she wasn’t, he’d want to change. If I said I didn’t know, he’d probably obsess over it and spend the evening wondering what she thought of him.

“She said you look incredible in blue.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he blushed at this thought, but it was hard to tell in the dim lights. “Good,” he nodded with a childish grin.

I set my bag back down on the table and stepped forward just a few feet, deciding to bite the bullet and give him a little unwanted suggestion. 

“Just go for it,” I told him.

He looked to me quickly, the smile slowly fading as he crossed his arms across his chest. “What?”

“Come on,” I told him. “I know how you feel. Hell, everyone knows how you feel.”

The look on his face just then was one that indicated surprise. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Is it that fucking obvious?”

"It’s none of my business, but I think a lot of us are rooting for you guys.”

He chuckled lightly, almost inaudibly. “So am I.”

“So why haven’t you tried to make it happen?”

“We work together,” he told me. “I mean, maybe back in the day…” He stopped, looking at me and realizing I wasn’t the ideal confidant.

“Sorry,” I blurted. I felt like an idiot. “I was way out of line.”

I grabbed my bag to leave, and when I opened the door, I heard his voice calmly calling my name.

“Yes?”

"Thanks for letting me talk,” he told me. “I don’t think it was rude. I mean, we’re almost friends, right? We’ll be seeing a lot of each other for a while. I’d rather you told me stuff like that. And as far as asking about that, it’s not that it’s not your business. It’s just that it’s hard for me to talk about that kind of thing when I work with her. It’s a crazy situation, you know?”

I smiled back at him, finally deciding to leave. “Have fun tonight,” I nodded.

“Yeah, you too.”

I don’t know why he wished I had fun that night. He was the one going to a party. My evening would involve a lot less socializing than his would, but probably a lot more wine.


	3. Scarlett

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana and Scarlett have a bit more interaction than usual.

I guess there were probably about a dozen of us who flew out to London with the tour group. I mean, you had the big stars, Jeremy, Scarlett, the director, and you had all of their assistants, the ones who had to be by their sides constantly. Then there was our group, the crew. We were makeup, hair, style, blah, blah, and blah, as far as the big guys were concerned. But hey, no complaints. We were making good money.

That first night, no one had to go anywhere. Thank the gods! I could relax for once, and since I knew these nights would not be plentiful, I went all in on this. Shut off the lights. Lock the doors. Drink copious amounts of wine and fall asleep to the smooth sounds of John Legend.

Well I should have known I’d have the worst hangover of my life the next morning. I wasn’t the headache-and-vomit type of drunk, but rather the sleepy-to-the-point-of-wanting-to-die type. And the leave-me-alone-or-I’ll-kill-you type. And the I’ll-never-drink-anything-ever-again type. And the yes-I-will-who-am-I kidding type.

We had an early start, and I hadn’t really factored in jet lag or how important it was to note the time difference between New York and London. I don’t know how I managed to wake up, shower, dress, and remember my notebook before I headed out by 6 AM, but I did somehow. On to Scarlett’s room I went, hoping the minute-long Listerine rinse had wiped away any trace of day-old alcohol breath.

“Did I wake you up?” I asked, since she answered in a t-shirt and shorts, her hair tied back and her eyes puffy. This wasn’t like her at all.

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” she told me.

I stepped inside after her. “Where’s George?”

“Not here yet,” she said, stating the obvious. “I’ll call him.”

I stood awkwardly waiting as she dialed his number. It was so dark, I wanted to turn on the lights. But I wasn’t sure either of us would have been happy with that decision.

“He’s not answering,” she said. “I’m just going to assume he’s sleeping in. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I was surprised, but George was so much older… maybe the long trips were harder on him. “Well, I can help you if you’d like. And if you don’t think he’d mind.”

“Honey, I would love to have you dress me.”

The words sent chills down my spine. I mean, I’m straight… but I also feel like for her I could probably make an exception.

Or maybe I was just a little drunk still.

I browsed through the rows and rows of designer dresses and suits, my mind too clouded to truly appreciate this stylist’s paradise before me. “Anything on loan?” I asked. “You know, anything you need to wear before you return it?”

She shook her head and shrugged as she picked through the closet. “I don’t even know,” she told me. “He would know.”

“What do you feel up to today? What are you in the mood for?”

“It’s too damn early to tell, to be honest,” she joked. “What’s Jeremy wearing? Why don’t you just coordinate me around him?”

“Because I do the job exactly the other way around,” I said. “He coordinates to you.”

“Let me call him,” she said with a smile. It was evident she wanted to call him. Maybe she’d been trying to think of an excuse all along.

She pulled her phone out once again, calling him at the press of one button. Obviously she had him on speed dial. Wow.

“Good mornin’ Grandpa,” she smiled as he answered. “Get your ass out of bed.”

She chuckled with him some more, and she cast a few other little playful jabs at him while they spoke. I didn’t mean to rush her, but I had a job to do, and listening to her talking to him, especially knowing that he felt what he did for her, was hard for me. It seemed she liked him too. Why didn’t they just make it happen already?

“So I’ve got Lana here,” she spoke. I was shocked to learn she knew my name. “She’s trying to find something for me to wear… I don’t know, I tried calling him. I think he’s sleeping… Honestly? I’m glad… Well, yeah… Okay, so what are you wearing?” Then she laughed. I just know he made some sort of phone sex joke. “Ok, so gray? Okay, I guess I can wear anything with that, can’t I? You’re the best, Renner… Ok, see you in a bit…. Love you.”

Did she just say “Love you”?

“He’s hoping he can wear something gray today,” she said to me. “I should have figured that’s what he’d say. The guy cannot wear that color enough.”

“It’s a great look for him,” I said, returning to the closet. “Never fails him, does it?”

She sighed, and with a faraway look, she answered. “Nope.”

It was hard to figure her out. She seemed so independent and strong, so capable of everything without needing a man to define her. This was something I had always admired in her, and seeing her looking into the distance, the way she beamed when she talked to him, I wondered if she wasn’t just very good at hiding the way she felt about him.

Word of mouth had always been that they were just friends. Like, very good friends. Someone I talked to once said Jeremy had it bad for her, but she didn’t feel the same way. Another person told me they dated briefly, but stayed friends. I don’t even know. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. It damn sure wasn’t any of my business.

“Stripes?” I asked her, flaunting a striped blouse I chose to pair with red jeans.

“Perfect!” She smiled. “You really know your stuff!”

I think she was just trying to flatter me, but I thanked her for the compliment. “Those black Louboutins will work well, and if you need me to do your hair, I can. Just let me go get Jeremy set.”

“Oh, I can manage my hair,” she said. I just loved that she wasn’t picky, that she didn’t hate her stylist for not showing, that she would comb her own hair because she was actually well aware of the fact that she was a grown-ass woman.

I sped over to Jeremy’s room, and I knocked before I’d even stopped in front of the doors. They now had only an hour before the car would take them away, and I knew that my job was only a portion of the things he had to do before he left.

He opened the door, and I bolted inside, rushing for the wardrobe that had been delivered for him. Gray, gray, gray… then I found the perfect gray cashmere pullover and black pants. “I can press these pants real quickly, but if you want to – “

When I turned to him, he held a coffee cup in his hand, and he stood before me dressed in nothing but his running shorts.

Fuck.

“Um… I could… do the… the thing…” I was making a fucking fool of myself, and I knew it.

He smiled at me as he tried to understand. But he would never understand what that body did to me.

“I mean,” I continued, composing myself, “I could find another pair that doesn’t need pressing.”

“If you think these will look best on me, I’ll stick with these,” he said as he grabbed the sweater. “There’s an iron in the closet.”

As he walked away, I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help it. That ass, am I right?

I kept frantically checking my watch as I ran the iron over the pants, listening to the music of the shower stream hitting the most perfect naked body ever. No! Stop thinking about it, Lana!

Oh hell, how could I not?

By the time the shower has stopped running, I had finished the pants, and I waited outside the bedroom for him to emerge.

“Pants!” I heard him call. I cautiously entered the bedroom and crept to the bathroom door.

“Uh… yeah,” I told him. “Here.”

Then he opened the door.

Why, oh, why did he open the door?

He could have just reached an arm out or told me to leave them on the bed or hang them on the doorknob. But no. He opened the door and I had to look at him, dripping wet and wearing his boxer briefs, rubbing a towel through his hair to dry it.

I turned my head away so that I wasn’t looking directly at him. Reaching my arm out, he grabbed the pants, and I left to the main room of the suite to wait for him.

It would take some time to recover from that.

Finally he joined me again, wearing the hell out of that outfit and smelling like what I’m pretty sure Heaven smells like. “You okay today?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “It’s not the easiest morning,” I answered.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

I could have melted at that word, but I somehow managed to keep it together.

“Just – late night last night. Things changed this morning. Just… stuff.”

“Well,” he comforted me as he sat for me to comb his hair. “It’ll get better. I never thought I’d get used to it, but I did. I mean, it’s never fun to get up at the crack of dawn every day, but it makes you appreciate those days off a lot more.”

I nodded. Maybe he was right.

“Hey, thanks for helping out this morning.”

“Well, it’s my job.”

“No,” he smiled, “I mean thanks for helping Scarlett. She really appreciated it.”

I smiled to him as I finished his style, and I backed off, feeling extraordinarily accomplished at having finished the job and not a moment too soon. “No problem,” I said. “I love her.”

“Yeah,” he grinned with that same look she had sported earlier. “Me too.”

I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable having said that to me. “Well, I’m gonna go now.”

“I mean, everyone loves her,” he added.

“I know.”

He smiled until the knock sounded at his door and his assistant, David, showed up with breakfast for the drive.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. As I often did after a rough morning, I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, meditating a little during these few moments of solitude. I had seen how he looked with her, even when he just spoke of her. And though it wasn’t so evident in Scarlett, I could see she cared very much for him as well. I was no matchmaker, certainly not for these huge stars I barely even knew. But I had my foot in the door. Maybe it was for my own satisfaction, or maybe it was that I knew everyone wanted them to be together, but either way I needed to see if I could help.

Maybe I just needed a hobby. Things could get kind of boring after my job was done.

Not for long, though.


	4. A Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana and Scarlett connect.

I knocked at his door, and he answered, wearing those boxer briefs and flaunting the shape of his package unashamedly.

“I was hoping you’d come by a little early,” he said. “I was thinking about you all night. I couldn’t sleep.”

He leaned forward, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the room before shutting the door behind him. Then he turned, spending the perfect amount of time undressing me with his eyes before doing it with his hands. He lunged toward me like a lion on prey, pulling my top up over my head, almost ripping it off.

“I need you, Lana,” he whispered into my ear. And though it was only a whisper, it couldn’t have convinced me more than if he had screamed it.

“Jeremy, this is unprofessional,” I told him, even though I wasn’t exactly refusing his fiery kisses on my neck.

“Is this unprofessional?” He asked, sliding a hand up my leg, under my skirt, running his fingers along the lining of my underwear.

At this touch, I was his, as if I wasn’t already. I fell to my knees before him, placing my hands along his waistband. I could see through the very little material that separated us that he wanted this, wanted me, and I would give him what he wanted. My fingertips slipped under the elastic, and I looked up at him one more time. His steel blue eyes looked down at me with angst, with frustration at the way I teased him. His hand moved to the back of my head, intertwining with my hair, and he grabbed a handful with just the perfect amount of brute force. It was time to give him what he wanted.

But then I woke up.

Don’t you hate when that happens?

I stared at the clock, which told me that it was still an hour before I needed to get up. There was no reason I should have woken up from that dream. Ugh. Come on, sleep!

But then I saw that my phone light was on. Someone had texted me, and I guess that’s what woke me up.

I didn’t know the number, but I was used to the strange numbers texting me. It was usually another stylist needing a consultation or someone informing me of a meeting that was to take place.

But usually not at 5 in the morning.

Wanna go for a run?

I had no clue who it was. And running? Ew.

Who is this?

I waited, lying in bed, hoping it was an accidental text.

Scarlett. Sorry, thought you had my number.

Was I still dreaming? It was still a little early to tell. Just in case it wasn’t, I texted back.

I’ll be down in ten.

I jumped out of bed, trying to ignore the fact that my legs were still aching from the dream I was having. I didn’t bother with a shower since I knew I was about to get all sweaty anyway, and I threw on my workout gear. I don’t know why I packed it; I had no plans to use it. But, you never know I guess.

When I met her at her room, she looked so fresh and happy I could have puked. Are there actually people in this world who aren’t horribly crabby in the morning?

“Hey kid,” she greeted me.

“Hi,” I said. I felt like I needed to say more, or at least say something cute, but I didn’t. It was too early for that shit.

“Well,” she started, “Shall we?”

I nodded, following her lead, and she led me down to the lobby and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head as we left the elevator. Almost no one was out this early, with the exception of a few of the hotel staff and an elderly couple walking a dog. We had hit the thick, dewy London air for only a moment before she stopped suddenly and I almost walked right into her. She reached her hands into the air, bending her palms back, stretching her legs back, doing a couple lunges, and I was standing there, watching. I started to mimic her movements because I didn’t want to look like an idiot, and thankfully she didn’t see me.

“I usually do five in the morning,” she said as she finished her stretches.

“Five’s okay. Not too early.”

“Oh, I meant five miles,” she corrected. “I usually put in a five mile run in the morning.”

“Oh…”

Was she fucking kidding me? I never ran. I mean, I used to play softball in college, but that was only for one season so I could shut my dad up. No. Running is unnatural. Well, unless you’re getting chased by an evil clown, in which case I would advise running very, very fast and for as far a distance as you must because clowns are the absolute worst.

“Let’s go,” she smiled at me. And if she wasn’t so damn charming, I never would have gone to hang out with her anyway.

I surprised myself at how well I did for the first few minutes. I was able to keep my breaths steady and keep any soreness at bay. She looked so determined when she ran, like an athlete who’d been doing this all her life. And maybe she had. I didn’t really know a whole lot about her.

But by the time we got on that third mile, I wanted to die. Didn’t she believe in taking breaks? We started to run up a hill and Oh-Em-Gee if I wasn’t dying, this whole thing was pointless. Why did she do this? It’s not like she needed to workout. She had an amazing body.

Or maybe she had an amazing body because she worked out.

We reached the peak, and she turned to me and smiled. “Time to head back,” she said, her already raspy voice cracking under her breathy sighs. “How we doin’?”

“It’s,” I wondered what to say that wasn’t a lie, but also didn’t sound like a complaint. “It’s really waking me up!”

"Well, downhill’s a lot easier,” she said with a wink. Damn her.

We turned back, heading down the hill. She was right, it was easier. But it also was harder to control the movement of my legs as the combination of gravity and my now Jello-ed legs kept pulling me down a little faster than I wanted.

Don’t trip, Lana. Don’t you dare trip.

When we got to level ground again, I laughed, relieved that I had survived without looking completely ridiculous.

“What’s so funny, Lana?” She smiled back over her shoulder.

“Oh nothing,” I smiled back. “Just, I want to die.”

At this she stopped and bent over with exasperated laughter. Had I said that out loud?

“Thank God!” she shouted, sitting down on a bench along the walkway.

“Wait, you wanted to stop, too? Why did you keep running?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was a wimp,” she laughed. “Water?”

I accepted the water bottle from her pocket and sat beside her. I probably chugged that thing in less than 10 seconds.

“It’s been a while since I ran this much,” she confessed. “I used to do it all the time, but with everything that’s been going on, I don’t think I’ve done this in over a month.”

“Yeah, me either,” I told her. “Well, okay maybe a little longer than a month.”

“You know I’m just gonna end up eating a doughnut later and ruining all this,” she said. “But it’ll be worth it, right?”

“Exactly.” Really? She was nothing like any other actress I had met. She was so… real. I don’t think I ever met one that would come within fifty feet of a grain of sugar.

She let out a loud groan and looked to the remainder of road before us. “We’ve got to finish this, sister,” she told me.

I nodded. I knew she was right. We couldn’t exactly stay here forever, though I would love to.

We stood and continued down the stretch of road, more jogging or swiftly walking than actually running. I caught up with her, as she was not going quite as fast as I was, and as I now ran (or whatever we were doing) beside her, I had to ask.

“So, why did you ask me to come along?”

“Well, we’ll be spending a lot of time together, so I figured we should hang out a little.”

“I guess we will,” I said. “Not to be rude, but I’m gonna be a little busy with your co-star.”

“Yeah, I know. I figure we can head over to my room after this and you could take care of me before you get him all set.”

I was thoroughly confused now, and maybe it’s just my filthy mind, but it sounded kind of sexual, and I was kind of okay with that.

“What do you mean?”

She stopped again, halting to a walk now, hands on her hips and out of breath when she looked at me. “You heard that George had to go home, right?”

“No,” I told her. “I had no idea.”

“Oh, yeah,” her face turned a little more sad and I feared the worst.

“Oh my god. Is he dead?”

“What? No!”

Well, that was embarrassing.

“No, his partner lives back home, and just found out he has cancer. I told him to go home.”

“Oh!” I said with a smile. “I mean, not that that’s good news, but I was just afraid…”

She chuckled a little and patted my back, comforting me. “I don’t think it’s terminal or anything since he offered to stay here, but I told him he needed to be there. They’ve been together for, like, 25 years or something.”

“That’s so sweet,” I sighed. “Man, I hope I can have that someday.”

“I think we all do,” she answered. “We’ll get it right one day.”

I really wanted to ask about Jeremy, but we weren’t quite there yet. And speak of the devil…

“Renner!” Scarlett exclaimed when Jeremy came jogging down the path toward us.

I watched his face as he realized she was there, calling his name, dressed in her grungy workout gear, and he was dressed similarly. He saw her and beamed, just as he always did. His face lit into a Roman candle of emotions, and without saying a word in response, he swept Scarlett of her feet, literally, and hoisted her over his shoulder, carrying her down the path we had just come from.

If they weren’t in love, then I’m Johnny Depp.

She was laughing hysterically, pounding her fists into his back, and now they were about 40 feet away, still going strong. And I stood alone, which is how I usually ended up. I turned to face the hotel, which was now barely a mile away, and walked again, remembering it was far too late to go back to bed.

“Lana!” I heard her call.

I turned around and she was running toward me, her hand stretched out to me. “Here’s my room key. Just go ahead and set whatever you want out for me. And here’s his. Do the same for him, okay?”

I nodded, amazed that I had been trusted with their room keys. Yeah, I’d worked with them both before, but it was, what? Twenty minutes a day for a couple days at a time? When did they put so much trust in me?

But anything to get them together, I figured, was alright by me.


	5. Germany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana accompanies the group to Germany, where she and Jeremy start to get to know each other.

London was fun, but it was time to move on.

We didn’t stay in Berlin itself, but rather a small town a few miles north. The name of the town was so long and had so many Rs in it, I just referred to it as the town with a butt-load of castles. Because yeah, it had a butt-load of castles.

I loved Germany. The architecture, the history, the weather – everything was perfect. I hated that we’d only be here a week.

It was a pain in the ass adjusting my schedule to tend to both Jeremy and Scarlett, but I kind of loved it. I knew what was rented, what was owned, what was gifted, what colors worked well on them – it was paradise. And by the time their first big interview came around, I had gotten to the point where I could have them both styled well before schedule, and I had developed a friendship with Scarlett. I’m sure Jeremy considered me a friend to a certain extent, but Scarlett was taking me out to dinner, running with me every morning, and this morning, she even asked me to come along with her.

“I have a dinner afterward, and I think I’d like to change.”

“Ok, is this a business dinner, a casual thing, formal…” I asked, trying to get a feel for the way she’d need to dress.

“Actually, I think it’s a… date.”

My eyes widened, and I quickly calmed them back down so she wouldn’t think it was such a shock to me that she might have a personal life.

“What type of place are you going to? Sorry, I’m not trying to pry. I just have to know how to dress you.”

"He said it’s a surprise,” she smiled like a schoolgirl. “Oh shit, I feel like I should just tell you who it is.”

Please be Jeremy. Please be Jeremy. Please be Jeremy.

“His name is Sam.”

Crap.

“I met him last night at the party. Do you remember him? Tall, thin blonde hair, beard?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I answered. And I really did remember him. I mean, I only saw him for a few minutes at the hotel, but he was pretty cute, and she seemed to enjoy his company.

“Okay, well, he strikes me as the adventurous type. Or at least I hope he is. He’s very athletic.”

I took her words into consideration and chose a more casual outfit, a sundress and boyfriend cardigan with ankle boots. “Will this work?”

“I love it,” she smiled. “And if you would put my hair up today, I’d appreciate it. I was sweating like a pig yesterday, and I really don’t want to deal with that again.”

At this point, I would have done just about anything for her. If she murdered someone, I’d help her bury the bodies. She just seemed so completely genuine, and she never, not once, looked down on me. She didn’t have a personal assistant, which actually shocked me, and she said it was because she said she hated having someone at her beck and call. “If I want a bagel, I’ll stop and get myself a friggin’ bagel,” she said.

The dress she wore for the interview, a Stella McCartney halter dress, fit her like a glove, and as I swirled her hair into a messy bun, I left for Jeremy’s room, metallic gray three-piece suit in hand.

“Your suit, Mr. R,” I smiled, playfully handing him the outfit and stepping into his room.

“Oh, uh,” he halted me from entering and looked behind him. “You know, I’ve got this. I can take care of it, thanks,” he told me in a hushed tone.

“I just had it altered,” I told him. “I need to make sure the fit is right.”

“Uh,” again he looked behind him, and I started to take offence at whatever was bothering him enough to forbid me to enter. “Thing is… I have someone in here with me.”

“You always have someone in there with –“ I stopped myself. Oh. It was that kind of someone. “Why don’t I come back in ten minutes?” I asked. “I really do have to make sure the fit is good.”

He looked behind him one last time, then stepped into the hallway with me. “Make it five. I’ll wake her up and tell her she has to leave. Believe me, I want her gone, too.”

“Pig,” I mumbled, and though he heard me, I think he thought I was joking. I wasn’t.

Five minutes came and went, and this time when I knocked, he was all too eager to push her out the door and welcome me in.

“Why couldn’t you have done that five minutes ago?” I asked.

He chuckled. “I have a system.”

“Whatever,” I huffed. “Here. Now hurry up!”

"Why? You missing out on bonding time with your new little girlfriend?”

“Actually, I am going to be at the interviews today, and I need to get back to my room and grab my things.”

He had disappeared into his room as I spoke, and maybe he heard me or maybe he didn’t. But I was dog tired after everything I had been through the last few days, and I sat on the couch waiting for him, fumbling through some magazine that had been laid out for the guests. I don’t know why I bothered looking at it. It was all in German. But the pictures were pretty…

“I think it fits okay, what do you think?”

I turned to look at him, his lean frame accentuated in the sheen of the fabric, a white shirt he was currently applying cufflinks to, and of course that vest, buttons for days, open and beckoning me to rip it right off.

Fuck.

“Y-yeah, I would say… yeah,” I answered. Hot damn.

“I don’t know if I’ll wear the jacket. I’m kinda liking the vest-only thing.”

“That’ll work,” I nodded, approaching him.

“How many buttons are even on this damn thing?” He asked. “1,2,3… 8? 8 buttons?”

"It’s fashionable,” I smiled. “And it’s slimming.”

“I don’t need slimming. I’m a fox.”

He was so proud of his faux pretentiousness, both of us fully aware there wasn’t a shred of piety in this guy. I reached for the top button, closing it, then moving on to the next, then the next, slowly, taking my time so that I could stand in front of him this long, my fingers against his stomach, feeling his hard core muscles as he stood casually in front of me, not even slightly aware of what he did to me.

“So I don’t need to wear the jacket, right?” he asked. “I can just go like this?”

I stood back so that I could take him in. He looked incredible, of course, but something was still lacking. “Lose the cufflinks,” I said. “And roll those puppies up.”

He tossed the cufflinks to the coffee table and stretched out one magnificent arm, rolling the sleeve up with that massive hand, his hand that could work wonders, his hand that I would love to feel against my own clothes. Then the other arm stretched, and I watched as the veins bulged effortlessly, and when he bent the arm up to tuck the roll under, it did things to me. Wonderful things.

“This good?”

Perfect.

“It’ll work,” I smiled. Would it ever.

I looked at his hair as he ran his fingers through it, moving to the window seat where I would have been doing his hair.

“No, I don’t need to touch it,” I told him. “I don’t know how you do it, but you actually look incredible like that.”

He laughed a little. “I should have a blonde in my bed every night before an interview,” he said. “Apparently it’s good for my hair.”

“I thought you…” I stopped myself. “No, never mind.”

“What?” He urged as he tied his shoes.

“No, nothing, really.”

“Come on, Lana, you’ve gone and started a sentence. You can’t just finish it there.”

“No, it’s none of my business.”

“You were gonna say something about me carrying a torch for Scarlett, weren’t you?”

“No?”

“Look, as much fun as it is pining away for someone who isn’t interested, I came across an opportunity last night that I couldn’t pass up. Simple as that.”

I nodded. “Like I said, none of my business.”

“And besides,” he continued, “She wasn’t just some hussy. That girl speaks five languages.”

Again I nodded. I got the point.

“And,” he said further, emphasizing his words now, “She was very polite and is in college right now.”

“Well at least she was of age,” I sneered. “I was a little worried there.”

He smiled at me. I was glad, because originally I was worried he would hate me for saying something like that. “You… you don’t need to tell anyone about it, though.”

“I won’t tell her,” I told him softly.

I think he wanted to argue that he didn’t mean Scarlett, but we both knew that wasn’t true.

“Anything else?”

“No, thanks. Except…”

I waited, ready to give any relationship advice needed.

“Are you sure about the hair?”

If you’ve ever seen Scarlett and Jeremy in an interview together, you’ve seen it. You’ve seen the chemistry, the playfulness, the bonding, the friendship, the love. And if you ever thought, like I used to, that maybe it was all for show or because they had to get along, you’re wrong. They clearly love each other. In fact, the way they act on camera is toned down.

Between interviews, they were playing with each other’s hair, laughing at inside jokes, talking about friends that - I have no idea who they are, and hugging, holding hands, throwing their arms around each other’s backs. It just seemed like so much more than a friendship. I was thoroughly convinced they were living the best kept secret in the history of movie stars.

But they weren’t secretly sleeping together or making out when no one was looking or doing anything behind closed doors that they wouldn’t also do in front of everybody. Because they were adults, and they knew how to act that way.

The last interview, one they could hardly keep a straight face for during the entire time, was one in which the show’s host spoke very little English, and after the host asked an unintelligible question, and after Jeremy and Scarlett had each asked him to repeat himself several times, they both just started answering back in answers that were equally difficult to understand.

Interviewer: Zis ees virst time in ze working wis de director, yes?

Scarlett: I’m sorry?

Interviewer: Is virst time, yes?

Jeremy: Worst time?

Interviewer: Ze director. Is virst time wis zat?

Jeremy and Scarlett look at each other and smile. They nod at interviewer.

Together: Yes, we loved everything about our experience.

I felt really bad for the host. It wasn’t his fault the interpreter didn’t show up. But they could have at least waited! Oh well. When it was over, the two stars spent a long time laughing about it while I retrieved Scarlett’s change of clothes.

I hated to interrupt them, but she had told me her date was at six, and with less than thirty minutes until then, I had to butt in.

“I can touch up your hair, too,” I told her while handing her her things.

“You any good with makeup?”

“Yeah, if you need me to help, I can.”

“You goin’ somewhere?” Jeremy asked her as we walked back to the dressing rooms.

“Yeah, big boy, you’re not the only one getting’ some,” she smiled. “I got a hot date.”

He smiled back at her with all but his eyes. This wasn’t a real smile.

“Good, glad,” he stuttered, “Happy for you.”

We had arrived in the room, and Scarlett looked at me, her face now growing serious. “Can you give us a minute, hon?”

I left and stood outside while they hung out in there, talking about God-knows-what, and after about five minutes Jeremy opened the door, hugging Scarlett on his way out. She had changed, and I stepped inside to help her finish getting ready.

“Looks good on you,” I told her.

She didn’t say a word, though not impolitely, and she sat while I finished her look, braiding the back of her hair before twisting it into a loose ponytail.

I turned to stand in front of her, applying her makeup, and I noticed her eyes were red and watered.

“You okay?” I asked casually while I drew the wings above her lids.

It took her a moment to respond, and at first I was scared she would just be silent. “I just hate disappointing people,” she said.

I didn’t know how to answer. Should I tell her he would get over it? Should I tell her that he had been with someone the night before, and surely enough of that would help him? Should I just stay silent?

Yes. Stay silent.

“Beautiful,” I told her as I brushed the lipstick on her perfect mouth. “All set.”

“I just don’t know what I’d do without ya, girl,” she said. “If only you were a guy.”

Believe me, I’d have been into it if I was.

I walked to the car that we had arrived in, and I saw that Jeremy was standing outside of it, still in that suit, smoking a cigarette and staring into the sky with a haze in his eyes.

“You haven’t left?”

“No, no,” he smiled. “I did.”

I patted him playfully. “I’ll call another car for me,” I told him.

“We can take this car back together,” he said. “Can you wait two minutes for me to finish?”

I nodded. I’d wait two centuries if he asked.

Finally he stomped out the butt and jumped inside to join me. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “But I could use a drink.”


	6. A Drink With Jeremy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy and Lana share a drink, some stories, and an embarrassing moment.

He gave the driver the name of a bar. I wasn’t expecting this. I thought he was just talking about going back to the hotel and having a drink in the bar there, and I definitely didn’t think he was serious about having me join him. We pulled up to the bar, one of those classic, stereotypical, storybook-type German beer houses, and he asked me to come inside with him. I already knew he wanted me to, but what I didn’t understand just yet was why.

We stepped inside, and he enjoyed the anonymity, seating himself in a booth in a secluded corner even though there was no need to stay secluded from these people. He didn’t say a word to me for a while, and he didn’t ask what Scarlett had said to me. He simply placed his order and that was it. I sat with him because apparently he wanted me to, but I wasn’t really sure how to act around him.

“Aren’t you getting a beer?” he asked.

“I guess I should,” I replied. “When in Rome, right?”

“More like ‘when in Berlin,’” he told me. “Except I guess this isn’t Berlin, is it?”

I smiled awkwardly because I felt I had to. He hadn’t exactly made a joke, but still I felt like I needed to humor him for some reason.

“So… are you okay?” I asked finally. Because it had been a rather uncomfortable few minutes, and I really did want to know.

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” he said, “But I will be, eventually. You could have told me, you know.”

“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” I told him, sassing right back at him the way he had done to me. “It’s not like you’ve been saving yourself for her.”

He threw me a stare over his glass as he gulped some of the scrumptious domestic brew.

“And what was I supposed to say?” I continued. “For one, I just found out this morning. And for another, she told me not to tell you.”

“She specifically asked you not to tell me?” he asked.

“Well, no,” I told him. “But she said that she needed me to keep it a secret.”

“She and I don’t have any secrets. She probably meant don’t tell any friends who would tell any friends who would care.”

“I’m sorry,” I confessed. “It’s just that I didn’t know who to tell or not tell, so I decided not to tell anyone just to be safe. But hey, at least you know you can trust me with a secret.”

He chuckled, probably sarcastically or to humor me just as I had humored him moments earlier. He looked at me, his eyes squinted in a way I’d seen him do before in movies. “What about you? You have a girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” I asked. “Um, no, I’m not… I’m not gay.”

“No?” he asked as if he was surprised. “Oh, sorry. I just thought… I mean, you look at her with the kind of look men give her, and I thought maybe…”

“I think every girl is gay for Scarlett,” I told him. “But to answer your question, no. I’m single.”

He nodded.

“So why did you ask me to come here with you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. At least he was being honest.

“Maybe because you know her. You’re the only one who really does know her. I mean of the people who are here, you know, the people I can talk to.”

“Well I’m not going to tell you anything she doesn’t want me to tell you,” I informed him. “I really don’t know the two of you well enough to be the go-between. And besides, this isn’t Junior High.”

He smiled. “I like you. You’re cool. You’re definitely the coolest stylist I’ve ever had.”

“Is there, like, a coolness meter for stylists or something?” I chuckled.

“Well I just mean you’re not so dramatic or flirty or proud, and you’re certainly not star-struck.”

Oh, if only he knew. I was definitely star-struck, I was just very good at hiding it.

“So apparently you’re feeling comfortable enough to listen to me talk about her, right?” I said, taking a few sips of the beer that I’m pretty sure they serve in Heaven. “I think that gives me the right to ask you a question or two.”

He curled one corner of his mouth into the shadow of a smile, and his eyes played with mine, glued on them, following my stare as I waited for the reply he’d never give.

“What the hell is going on with you guys?” I asked plainly.

He sighed. “That’s kind of a complicated question,” he answered. Well, sort of answered. “Break it down for me, will ya?”

“I mean, there’s no way you guys are just friends, right?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him.

“No, no, no, I mean, yeah, obviously you are now. But… that’s not how it’s always been, right?”

His bulbous, crooked fingers played with a coaster for a moment before he replied. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have fucking come here with you.”

“Oh, come on!” I almost shouted, “You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

He threw back the rest of the beer and raised his hand for another. “Why is this what everyone asks?”

“Because it’s you guys. It’s Rennerson.”

“What the fuck is ‘Rennerson’?” he asked. “Wait, no, I know. It’s one of those celebrity couple names, right?”

I smiled.

“Except we’re not a couple,” he told me. “We couldn’t be further from that.”

Maybe it was that second barrel-sized beer I was on, or maybe it was years of my inner fangirl too desperate to stay inside another moment, but I finally unleashed all the feelings I had inside me for the two of them.

“Have you seen the way you two are together? Have you seen you guys?”

“See, but it’s not any of your damn business, or anyone else’s,” he spoke calmly. “We’re friends.”

“You love her.”

“Of course I do,” he told me. “She’s one of my best friends.”

“No, you know what I mean.”

He wiped a bit of foam from the side of the fresh glass and leaned back into the overly plush seat, crossing his arms in the process. “You can keep a secret?” he asked. “And be fucking honest.”

I nodded, my mind just a bit fuzzy, but still fully aware of his vote of confidence.

“You know, I have had a crush on her for years.”

I took a huge gulp, probably appearing very unattractive in the process, and I leaned forward, bending on every word.

“She’s just so different, you know? She’s not like anything. She’s perfect, right?”

“She is,” I interrupted.

“And you know, I want to be with her, yeah, but I have so much respect for her. I can’t just be with her. It’s not like that. It’s not how it works with people like us.”

“Why not? You’re just people.”

“We are two very busy, very famous people,” he said. “Not to toot my own horn.”

I tried to give him my best “you’re an idiot” look, but I’m not sure how it actually came out.

He shook his head again and let out the most unusual laugh I’ve ever heard. “I can’t believe I’m fucking talking to you like this!” he said, grabbing his wallet. “We should head back.”

“No, come on! You need to talk to me!”

“I talked plenty,” he smiled. “Let’s go.”

“Can I just finish?”

“Five more minutes,” he told me. “Let me call Barry.”

He called our driver, and I finished my beer. I tried to get him to talk more, but he was adamant. And frankly, I was still just sober enough to know not to push it.

He noticed I was having trouble standing up, and he lightly gripped my elbow, leading me out to the car. “Man, Lana, you’re a lightweight,” he said.

“Not usually,” I replied. “They put something in those things, I swear.”

“I had two, same as you,” he told me.

“Hey! That rhymed!”

He shook his head and helped me into the car, and I guess I fell asleep. Next thing I knew, I was waking up as we pulled into the hotel parking lot, my mind much more clear than some 45 minutes before.

The goodbye was awkward; he wanted to make sure I wasn’t still buzzed, and I insisted I was fine, which I was. He walked me to my room, and he led me inside, ever the gentleman. Standing in my doorway, leaning to the side of it, he crossed his arms and watched me as I laid my jacket on the bed.

“I’m fine, seriously,” I told him.

“Sorry,” he said in a smile unlike any other. “Okay, well, I’ll go now.”

He stepped away from the spot he had been standing in, and he turned to leave, grabbing the door behind him.

“Hey!” I called, much louder than I actually had to.

He turned again. “What’s up?”

“I’ll keep your secret,” I told him. “But you should know it’s not anything everyone doesn’t already know.”

“Everyone, huh?”

I nodded as I stepped into the doorway, enjoying this new haven I had found, so close to him I could feel the warmth of his body. Such a tease he was, touching me in so many ways without making any physical contact whatsoever.

“Well, I’m just glad to be working with a human being for once,” he smiled. He cocked his head to the side, winking at me.

“Don’t do that,” I told him.

“What?”

“Don’t wink. I don’t think my vagina can stand much more of that.”

“Wow!” he exclaimed, his face changing instantly before returning to that now-familiar smile.

“That was inappropriate,” I told him, embarrassed, unable to look at him, shaking my heading and stepping slightly backwards into my room.

“It’s okay,” he replied.

I only stood there a moment longer, giving him a last chance to say anything else he wanted to. For some reason, I thought he would tell me something else – some deep, dark secret. I just wanted something that no one else in the world had.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

He leaned forward, his arm reaching out, drawing closer to my waist. I stopped breathing for a second. Was this really happening? Was this another dream? Was I still asleep in the car, tipsy from two beers equal to roughly a six-pack of any beer in America? As his eyes looked into mine, his body, dressed impeccably still, somehow, after 15 hours in that getup, drew closer to mine, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t take a second to gather my thoughts. I went in for that something, that one special something I had waited for for so long. So what if he carried a torch for Scarlett? So what if I was rooting for them, along with maybe a couple hundred million other people? Screw them. Screw them all.

I leaned my head, lips first, closer to meet his, and I closed my eyes as softly, sweetly, my mouth, only slightly opened, landed…

…On his chin.

Wait… what?

I opened my eyes, and there I was, lips and a little bit of tongue settled on the bottom of his face. And there he was, his hand on the doorknob, his body language now clearly pointing to the fact that he wasn’t coming in for a kiss. No, no. He was closing my door for me.

I think his intentions were simply to keep me from being embarrassed as he very quickly gave me a goodbye peck on the cheek. Too late, Ren. Too late.

I watched the door close, and a sickening feeling, a nausea like none other, instantly socked me in the gut. I fell to the floor, not even feeling the pain from my ass hitting the carpet as I gave in to absolute destitution.

Well, that was embarrassing.


	7. Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana has a few good conversations that help her recover from her embarrassing situation.

“Hey, Bobbi, it’s Lana. I need a favor.”

“It’s a little early,” Bobbi answered, her voice cracking under the early morning influence.

“I know, but I need you to help me out.” I coughed a couple times so she would believe me when I told her I was sick.

“Lana, go back to sleep. I have Reggie to deal with.”

Reggie, the director, had three times the interviews any of the stars had. Yes, Bobbi had her hands full, but I wasn’t ready to face the day.

“Look, I have the outfits all ready,” I told her. “Just drop them off at the rooms. Scarlett will do her own hair and makeup, and Jeremy’s easy. Promise.”

She sighed loud enough so that I could hear it. “What exactly is wrong with you?”

“I’ve been throwing up all night,” I lied. Wait, wasn’t I supposed to have a cough?

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “It totally came out of nowhere. But I’m bloated, too, and have a headache so it might just be that I’m about to get my period.”

There was silence on her end for several seconds.

“Bobbi?”

“Oh my god, Lana, remember that guy in Jersey last month?”

How could I forget? We had the hot dog date, and then he took me back to my place for drunken sex. Not much in the bedroom, maybe a 7 on the looks scale, and a total idiot. He actually used the phrase, “more prettier.” But I was drunk and horny, and he was all I had that night.

“Are you pregnant?”

I knew it was a ridiculous notion that I might be, but if it helped her believe me, I’d take advantage. “Oh my god, maybe!”

“I’ve got you, sweetie. You just relax, okay?”

Bobbi wasn’t really my friend – just a coworker I never really ever butted heads with. Her offering to take over for me, covering for me on the awkward morning after that kiss… no… that embarrassment, was a gift horse I refused to look in the mouth.

The black ribbed sweater we’d been gifted for Jeremy, paired with khakis and black leather loafers, laid on the edge of my bed beside the Gucci romper prepared for Scarlett. They would look especially cute today, and I was sad to miss it. But there was no way in hell I could face him that morning. And facing her would be just as bad somehow, though I’m not sure why.

My plan was to come up with a plan during my impromptu day off. The plan backfired.

Around 3 in the afternoon, my bedside phone rang, and I didn’t answer. I had my cell in my purse in the bathroom so I wouldn’t hear it, and I was watching local German news covering topics I would never need to understand. 5 times that phone rang, and finally I took it off the hook, tucking into the covers and closing my eyes. I wasn’t tired, but I couldn’t bear to be awake, either.

But when the knocking at my door started, I couldn’t ignore it.

I peeped out the little hole and saw that it was Scarlett. Well at least it wasn’t him.

“Hey, kid,” she said, her voice and face appearing equally concerned. “How ya feeling?”

I crossed my arms over my stomach, feigning the mystery illness, and sat back on the bed. “Not good,” I told her.

“Well, look, if you need anything,” she began, “You know, if you need to call someone or go somewhere or… take any tests…”

“Wait,” I stopped her, “What did Bobbi tell you?”

“She told me you thought you might be pregnant.”

My first reaction was sheer terror at her spreading this story and at how people might perceive me for it – people like Jeremy and Scarlett. But then I couldn’t control the laughter suddenly flooding from my lungs.

“What’s so funny, babe?” She asked, reaching a hand to rub my back as she sat next to me.

“I’m not pregnant,” I laughed. “And I feel fine!”  
Her face smoothed out again, all concern escaping, all discomfort ceasing from her eyes. “What?”

“No, I – I just couldn’t go out there today.”

“Why not?” she asked. “We kinda needed you.”

“Sorry,” I told her. “I know, I should have just sucked it up and walked out there. I think maybe by not being there, I might have made it worse.”

“Made what worse?”

All laughing, all smiling, all traces of any humor or mirth was gone from my body now, and I sat with her, still something of a stranger, and I wanted to explain everything to her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her everything.

“Last night,” I started, “Last night, I had a really weird thing with Jeremy.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and I hurried to continue before she assumed something that simply wasn’t so.

“We went out for a beer, and I had two, and they were huge, to be fair, and then he dropped me off at my room, and then,” I buried my face into my hand and let out something resembling a screech.

“And what?” she asked. “You slept with him?”

I looked up at her quickly. “No! God, no!”

“So?” she asked. “What happened?”

“Well, he reached to close the door, and I thought he was trying to kiss me, and…”

I would have finished, but Scarlett was bent over now, laughing her ass off and saying, “no way” repeatedly.

“It’s embarrassing!” I cried, though tearless since she was taking so much of the drama out of the situation.

“Oh, honey, no!” she laughed, “What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” I told her. “I think he just kind of pretended it didn’t happen.”

She caught her breath and settled down, shaking her head similarly to the way Jeremy often did. “Babe, I understand why you’re upset, but you can’t hide in here all day like this.”

“But how was I supposed to face him after that?” I asked. “Look, I wasn’t planning on quitting or anything; I just needed a day off.”

“You know, Jeremy is the sweetest, easiest guy in the world to deal with,” she told me. “Just go back to work tomorrow like nothing happened. I’m sure he’ll be fine! Knowing him, he won’t even mention it.”

I sighed, out of words and believing she was right. Then I nodded, because she did that a lot without speaking, and her mannerisms were growing on me.

“How did it go last night for you?” I asked her.

She smiled brighter than I’d seen since this trip started. “He’s amazing,” she gushed. “He took me to this old fortress and we took a private tour, you know, one that most people don’t get to take.”

Most people. People like me, for example.

“Then we ended the night with dinner outside under the stars… oh man, it was friggin’ perfect.”

The light in her eyes and the sparkle in her smile were so brilliant, it was like she was living a fairy tale. Hearing her happiness, regardless of what embarrassment I had been through, made me feel instantly better. She deserved this.

We talked for a few minutes more, her smile unbreakable as she spoke of Sam, his charm, his affection for her. I was still in a phase of disbelief at the fact that she discussed these things with me, but I listened, hanging on every word, every story because I loved this woman. I think we were friends now. Her coming to my room to check on me and tell me about her date solidified that fact with me.

“Anyway, I should probably go,” she said at last. “But hey, I better see your ass in my room tomorrow morning, kid, you got that?”

I chuckled back, “I’ll be there. Promise.”

She hugged me, and I could feel in that embrace that she was someone who gave a damn about other people. She wasn’t just humoring me. Oh my god, I was friends with Scarlett fucking Johansson…

After she left, I resigned myself to the character of Ailing Stylist #2, dressed myself in a costume of flannel PJs and wore the makeup of remnants of chicken noodle soup on my mouth. It was only eight, but I tucked myself in bed and turned on a soap opera rerun.

When there was another knock at the door, I expected Bobbi to be checking up on me. But when I looked out the peephole, it was Jeremy.

Shit.

I peeked at the mirror, making sure I looked believably sick but not disgusting. My goal was to get him to think I had been under the weather, not thrown under a train. Then I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t answer. No. Scarlett was right. I needed to face this head-on.

“I heard you were sick,” he greeted. “Here.”

I accepted the vase of flowers he handed me, and I set them on the desk. “Thanks so much,” I sniffled.

“You feeling any better?”

“Oh, you know,” I started, trying to remember what I was supposed to be sick with. “I think I just got a little food poisoning,” I coughed.

“And a cold?” he snickered.

“Uh… yeah… I guess so.”

“You wouldn’t be avoiding me, would you?”

I wanted to just say “screw it” and admit the truth. I wanted to follow Scarlett’s advice, because I knew she’d know best in that situation. I wanted to get it all out, clear the air, return to the way things were.

“I’m not really sure why you would think that,” I said in my best accusatory tone. “I’ve been miserable for the past 24 hours, and you want to make this about you?”

“Sorry,” he said. I think I had convinced him finally.

“It’s okay. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

“You know, I backed out of dinner plans so I could come talk to you,” he told me. “I really thought you were upset about yesterday, and I really don’t want you to be.”

"You didn’t have to cancel any plans,” I told him. “No one made you do that.”

“Look, it happens more than you think, okay? People get the wrong idea, they –“ He looked around as people were walking around in the hall, some purposely listening. “Can I come in?”

I figured there was no harm in that, and I let him in.

“They think I’m interested, or they assume that just because I’m an actor I want to get in everyone’s pants, and they make advances. Or they misinterpret things. Then when it doesn’t go the way they want, they get upset and end up quitting usually. And I really don’t want you to quit. I like you.”

I like you.

“I like you too,” I told him. “Working with you, I mean. You’re very good to me.”

“So we’re not gonna let this get weird, are we?”

I looked him over as he stood in his outfit. His sweater looked every bit as good on him as I imagined it would, but the pants were a bit tight. Not that I was complaining.

“I can’t let it get weird,” I told him. “I can’t let Bobbi let you go out wearing those pants ever again.”

“Yeah, I thought they were a little tight, too,” he told me. “But she insisted.”

As I became aware of the fact that we were both observing his crotch and making judgments on it, I changed the subject as quickly as I could.

“Scarlett was here earlier,” I told him. “Apparently Bobbi’s been telling people I’m pregnant.”

“Wait, you’re not?”

“No!” I barked. “I don’t understand how people believed her so easily!”

“Because we don’t know you well enough to know if that’s something that wouldn’t be true.”

“Yeah,” I sighed as I sat on the bed. “You’re right, I guess.”

He fumbled with a ring and he looked down at it, or maybe at the floor. I could just tell he was going to ask about her. I don’t know how I knew; I just did.

“She tell you anything about her date?”

The way he said date, spat it out, practically, made it all too clear how he felt about it. Jealous much?

“She did,” I informed him. “She had a good time.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

I moved over on the bed and patted the empty space beside me, beckoning him to sit down. Maybe if he got comfortable, he would tell me everything that was on his mind.

“On a scale from 1 to 10, how well would you say you know her?”

“Well,” I pondered as he sat next to me, “If my knowledge of her before this trip was a zero, let’s say, I guess it’s at about a three now. Maybe four in some areas.”

“What about just kind of in general?” he asked. “I mean, women in general.”

“Well, I’ve been one for nigh on 30 years, young man,” I told him. “I would say I pretty much know all there is to know.”

He chuckled just slightly and looked up at me. “What am I doing wrong?”

Why the hell a man in his mid-forties would ask me this, I don’t know. What advice could I possibly give him that he didn’t already know? And why would he, a man who had everything, get so hung up on a girl who didn’t want him? He could have any woman, me included. But she was like his own little personal Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and he was intent on getting some of the fruit, if you catch my drift.

“First of all,” I started, “What exactly do you want?”

“I just want to be able to talk to her,” he confessed. “Just the ability to have an adult conversation with her about us without seeming needy.”

“Well just so you know, you are coming off a little needy right now,” I told him honestly. “Just let it go.”

“She and I used to be a thing,” he told me. “I mean, nothing serious, but yeah. We were together at one point.”

My jaw dropped as I looked to him, his eyes indicating a remembrance of fonder days. “When?”

“A long time ago,” he replied. “A whole lifetime ago.”

“What happened?”

He leaned his back against the head board. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t know. We just stopped one day. And she never brought it up again, and I didn’t want to say anything, and things got weird for a while, and then it just never happened again.”

“So go talk to her about it,” I urged him.

“But how? How am I supposed to just talk to her about it? Do I just walk up to her and say, ‘Hey, Scarlett, why don’t we fuck anymore?’”

At the same time that I was deeply touched by his obvious feelings and his angst for her, I was also wildly aroused by his use of the word “fuck” and the visual in my mind of the two of them in action.

“So how do I do it?” he asked.

“Why don’t you write her a letter?”

“A letter? What am I, eight?”

“No, come on,” I told him, giving him my honest opinion. “Women love it when a man actually takes the time to write out his thoughts for them. And none of this typed-up, to-whom-it-may-concern shit, either. Sit down, write her a letter.”

“A letter.”

“Yeah. A letter. With words.”

“Words,” he repeated. “And that works?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Woman actually like it when I guy writes them a letter? And you think she’s like that?”

“She’s not like anything,” I told him. “But you already know that. Just take a chance.”

He smiled at me. “I don’t know why I’m asking advice from a single woman.”

“Hey, buddy, you’re the one who asked for advice, so that’s all on you.”

“Thanks,” he whispered. Finally, I was comfortable with him again, looking at him there beside me, his blue eyes looking through me, his mind focused on her rather than our awkward run-in the night before.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“You’re not at work right now,” he told me. “You don’t need to ask that.”

He didn’t stand up to leave, and I didn’t ask him to. We were probably a good foot apart, and we watched the German General Hospital, and we drank from the mini bar until I found myself falling asleep. I kind of wanted him gone, but I also kind of wanted him to stay. I needed this closeness with him to make up for any more unfortunate experiences we might end up having.

He noticed I was drifting into a sleep, and he looked down and over at me as I cuddled into my pillow. “God, sorry!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t even realize it had gotten so late.”

“It’s okay,” I mumbled. And I remember my last words that night being, “Stay as long as you’d like.”

You ever have those dreams when you can’t tell where reality stops and the dream begins? In the dream I had that night, we were still in bed. In fact we never left it, rolling around under the covers, naked, sweaty, hot. We were all over each other, my fingers in his hair, his hands on my body, cupping my breasts, kissing them like we were in a romantic novel. I sat on top of him, he got behind me, we spooned, we tried every position I’d ever tried before, and then some. He was insatiable. And the whole time I was telling myself to wake up and stop thinking about him that way. But at the same time, I never wanted to wake up because I knew this was as close as I could ever be to actually fucking the man of my dreams, literally.

Waking up is always bittersweet because I have such vivid dreams, and that night’s was certainly no exception. Of course, he was gone, probably having left right after I told him to stay. I sat up and wiped the sleep from my eyes, contemplating for a moment whether I should grab the vibrator from the drawer and get those urges out of my system before my day began, but I didn’t have time.

I stood up and went to shower, and taped to the bathroom mirror was a piece of the hotel stationary.

Lana,

Here’s a letter. It’s for you. And these are words, just like you like them.

Jeremy

Oh, hell.

So what if I was a little late?


	8. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana, Scarlett, and Jeremy attend a party in Paris.

I can’t even begin to describe how good it felt to get back to work in a worry-free environment.

I brought Scarlett another Dolce and Gabana dress, because she wore it so well. This time, the emerald green lace accents highlighted her eyes perfectly, and as she slipped into nude heels, she asked if I had talked to Jeremy.

“Everything went well,” I told her. “We talked it out.”

She didn’t need to know the details.

For Jeremy, I had selected a gray sweater and black pants because he wore that so well.

He returned from changing in his room, and I admired the getup, playing with the hem of the pants a bit before deciding they were, in fact, the right length.

“Those black ones again,” I told him, referring to the shoes I wanted him to wear. “And check these out.”

I handed him a pair of argyle socks sent over to us. The hints of red and yellow in the pattern brought a grimace to his face as he looked them over. “Really?”

“They’re cool!” I told him. “Look, just wear them. No one’s even gonna notice. Besides, they’re a gift from the company that dresses Mark Schloss.”

“Who the hell is Mark Schloss, and why the hell do I care?”

“He’s the host of the show you’re on today, and he’s a huge deal. It’s the number one entertainment show in the country.”

He shrugged as he grabbed them from me. “The things we do to keep our jobs,” he said with a shake of his head.

I watched as he finished getting ready. His eyes studies the pattern of the socks, disgusted by it, and he had no problem making that obvious. And as for my eyes, well, they studied him. Every crease in his mature visage, the lines across his forehead, accentuated now as he studied his clothing, the veins of his arms peeking slightly from under the sleeves he’d pushed back, those unusual fingers, and those long, lean legs that led to feet that were somehow also unbelievably sexy. I looked for a flaw; maybe his nose was too big, or maybe his ears were funny or maybe…

No. Nothing was flawed. Everything, every fucking thing about him was perfect.

He stood after his shoes were on. “Well at least you can’t see them like this,” he smiled.

“Just don’t cross your legs,” I told him. “Not on camera, anyway. You can show him your socks between breaks or something. That way he knows you wore them.”

“I guess,” he shrugged again. “Ok, well, hair time, right?’

I nodded, and he sat at the bench where the products were laid out. I usually stood in front of him to style it, but I stood behind him this time. I was mostly over the events of the other night, but I wasn’t quite ready to have his head that close to my boobs.

I played the comb through his hair, combing it into several different directions before deciding on the perfect style. I could see his reflection in the full-length mirror across from us, and his eyes stayed glued on the floor as I continued on with the comb and product.

“Did you get the letter?” he asked, breaking the silence in a way that wasn’t too intrusive.

“Yes,” I chuckled. “Thank you.”

“You were sleeping before I could say goodbye, so I figured I’d give you a letter.”

“Sorry. I guess that zinfandel knocked me out cold.”

“You had two of those little bottles,” he told me. “You insist you’re no lightweight, but you are, Lana.”

I knocked the comb over the top of his head playfully, and he smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I smiled back, and in the process, felt the butterflies in my stomach like I was back in high school crushing on the quarterback.

“You need a haircut,” I told him. “I’ll set you up with an appointment tomorrow before we fly out.”

“Will we have time?” He asked. “Can’t you just do it?”

“I’ve cut hair a few times, but I’m no professional. And we’ll have time if I send someone up here in the morning.”

“I’d rather you did it,” he told me. “You know what looks good.”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Come on, Lana,” he pled. “I trust you.”

His words sent shivers through me. Yeah, he was just talking about a haircut, but my mind was riddled with other scenarios.

“Ok,” I told him. “I’ll come by around eight. Sound good?”

Before he could answer, David, Jeremy’s assistant, entered using a spare key entrusted to him by Jeremy.

“Breakfast,” he told Jeremy. “Eat up.”

I was taking way too long on his hair, anyway. I finished it quickly, then came around to the front of him. “Perfecto!” I smiled.

“Thanks, Lana,” he smiled back.

“Anything else?”

“Nah, that’s it. Thanks,” he told me. He started to approach me, and I raised my hand to wave a light goodbye, but he threw his arms around me, hugging me casually. “See you tomorrow.”

I tried to say it back, but couldn’t. I don’t think I was able to say anything for a very long time after that.

Going to his room that next morning was easier said than done. There were assistants and various other minions dragging his baggage out the door for the flight preparations, writers from magazines who had just begun their interview with Jeremy, and then there was Scarlett, sitting in the window seat playing with her nails while she read from her Kindle.

She noticed me before anyone else did, and she waved me over. “What’s up, doc?”

“Jeremy wanted a haircut this morning,” I told her. “Kinda thought there wouldn’t be a billion people in here when I promised I’d stop by.”

“Oh, Jeremy just got signed for the next Bourne movie,” she told me. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

This would be his third film for the franchise, and as a fan, I was beyond pleased with the news. I sat at Scarlett’s feet, and she laid her legs across my laps and continued reading while I listened to the interview.

Jeremy was answering all the questions the best way he could with his limited knowledge of the film. They were asking about costars and script spoilers and plot points, and all he could do was tell them they had to wait and see. Man, three questions in, I would have been cussing them out for being so friggin’ annoying, but he sat there, calm as ever, while his agent and publicist, who had flown in just that morning, sat beside him, feeding him with lines and limiting the questions so that no one asked anything too personal.

“Are you enjoying your tour thus far?” one interviewer asked.

He looked at her with a generous smile. “It’s been fun, but I can’t wait to get home.”

“What’s been your favorite part of the trip?”

“Meeting new people,” he started. “Making new friendships.”

Was he talking about me? No. He had met me a couple years ago. But maybe the friendship thing was about me a little.

“That’s all I have to ask you, Mr. Renner,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”

Before the next interviewer could continue questioning him, he looked over to me. “You mind getting a start on this mop-top?” he asked me.

On the one hand, it was nice not to have to worry about making conversation with him during the haircut. Even though we were on good terms, and even though conversation had always come easy to me, talking to him was a whole different animal.

But on the other hand, I was cutting the hair of a man everyone would be staring at on their TVs over the next few month during promotions and release, and there were probably half a dozen pairs of eyes in that room alone that were watching me as I did so.

Playing it safe, I worked a comb up the back of his head, trimming the excess off the edge while he kept talking to the guy from Entertainment Weekly. That was the easy part. Geez, I had to start on the top now.

I sprayed the water bottle a few times over his hair, trying not to get it in his face while he spoke. Surprisingly, I was successful in that, and I combed it all straight up as I started. His hair was so beautiful and thick – I wanted to roll around in it and snuggle up in it and go to sleep in it. But now I’m sounding creepy…

I trimmed anything that looked like a stray, made the line along the middle only slightly longer that the sides, and I convinced myself that someday he’d let me see him in a fauxhawk.

And then I needed to look it over. I had him turn 90 degrees, that way he could still talk but I could still look at him without getting in front of the writer. I ran my fingers up his jawline, my fingertips starting under his hair, pulling at it, checking to be sure the length was even. It was like silk, yet so thick and full. I had half a mind to move my hands all over his head, rustling his hair, maybe gripping his face and lunging forward into a kiss. Having my hands on either side of his face, having his eyes looking into mine, my lips in front of his, only six or so inches parting us, my imagination set before me a list a mile long of ways to ravage him.

Fuck me.

Suddenly, I noticed the room had gone silent. I mean, I had only been half-listening to them, but this was a deafening silence, and I felt every pair of eyes on me, just as I had feared.

“Excuse me?” His publicist looked at me.

I turned to face him, and the puzzled, repulsed look on his face confused me.

“What?”

“Did you just say, ‘Fuck me’?”

I looked around at all of them.

Had I said that out loud?

I pulled my hands from his face. “Ok, all done!” I said quickly as I packed my things and practically ran from the room.

Would I ever stop making a complete idiot of myself in front of him?

I rushed into that elevator, and my shaking hands pressed the button for my floor. Maybe quitting wasn’t the worst thing I could do. Maybe this was just a really fun trip around the world that I didn’t get to finish. Maybe it would be a cool story to tell the grandkids, if I could ever get anyone to marry me. But who would want to marry someone who constantly put her foot in her mouth?

I rushed inside my room and finished packing very quickly. I stood there, looking at my bags and their cheery pink floral print, and I got so mad! Why the hell couldn’t I ever keep my stupid fucking mouth shut?  
I heard the knock at the door and knew it must be the travel assistants coming for my luggage. But there stood Scarlett, her simple black jeans and combat boots, green checkered t-shirt and long blonde hair, all her perfection before me. Immediately she reached out her arms and hugged me.

“I’m an idiot,” I cried, backing away quickly so that none of my mascara got onto her clothes.

“Yeah, ya are!” she told me as she stepped inside. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t think I’d said it out loud!” I told her. “Oh, god, did I actually say it out loud?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had it that bad for him? I coulda distracted you or something.”

“It’s just a stupid crush,” I told her. “Who doesn’t have a crush on the guy?”

“The real question is who says ‘fuck me’ to his face in front of a room full of people?”

I sighed, grabbing my bags. “I guess I should just head home, now?”

“Oh shut up and sit your ass down, will you?” She told me. “I covered for you. You’ll be okay.”

“Covered for me? How?”

“I told them it was our code word,” she answered.

“Code word for what?”

“That you’re having ‘lady problems’ and need supplies.”

My eyes grew larger as I listened. “What? Why? Why would you say that in front of all of them?”

“A room full of men?” she started. “Please. No one questioned it, and I got you out of trouble, didn’t I?”

I shook my head and pursed my lips in anger, but she was right. She had done something for me that I didn’t deserve, and I was ultimately grateful.

“Thanks,” I told her.

She stepped toward me with her arms outstretched. “I need you to stick around, kid.”

I never understood why she called me “kid.” I was only a couple years younger than her.

“You saved my ass,” I said. “I owe you.”

“Let me give you some advice: If you ever want to make a room full of men stop talking, just bring up feminine issues. Never fails.”

When she left, I felt so much better. Talking to her always lifted my spirits, and when she put herself out there to help me, it left me absolutely speechless.

I sat on the plane fumbling through a crossword, solving maybe two or three problems before moving on to the next page. I fucking hated flying, and now with all that was weighing heavily on me, I needed to sleep. Someone give me my damn Ambien, already!

Ambien. I couldn’t help but think of Jeremy’s infamous Viagra story.

I took the pill and settled in. I should have known better then to take a sleeping pill for such a relatively short trip, but I needed it. Sleep and spare time were privileges I didn’t often enjoy, so I leaned back as much as I could in that seat, knocked back a pill, and closed my eyes, waiting to drift into a peaceful slumber.

It seemed I’d only been asleep a few minutes before I felt someone shaking my shoulder.

“Jeremy? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve just been thinking about you,” he told me. “I thought I should come see you after this morning.”

I shook my head remembering the embarrassment. “I’d rather not talk about it. And why are you even back here? Get back up in first class where you belong.”

“I want to talk to you, but… you’re right. This isn’t the place.”

“Well, I can’t come up there,” I pointed out. “I’m just a lowly poor person.”

He looked around for a minute. “Come talk to me in the restroom.”

I gave him a look that I hoped would convey to him just how absurd I found that idea to be.

“I know it’s weird, but we need to talk.”

I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that he was probably right. He went to the restroom, and I joined him a couple minutes later so that we could avoid the attention we might have gotten going together.

I stepped inside the tiny space to join him. “What?” I asked.

“Do you really want to fuck me?” he asked.

This question caught me completely off guard. “Uh… I mean… doesn’t everybody?”

“Maybe. But not everyone gets to,” he smiled as he grabbed me into his arms. “Let me take you right here, right now,” he ordered, and I had to give in.

I watched as he drew even closer, bringing me to him, his lips planting themselves on mine, his hands playing along my waist, slipping under my shirt, travelling quickly to my bra. My hands fell on his hips, also trailing upward, my fingers sifting through his silken hair as I had done earlier that day. I began to pull at it the way I couldn’t before, the way I’d wanted to since I first saw him. In a swift motion, he had my bra unhooked, pulled off of me, and he began working on my shirt, tugging it up and off of me, revealing my bare chest. He looked at my breasts for a moment, smiling before placing his face between them, hot kisses forging against the chill in my skin as I tried to gather enough focus to unzip his pants.

Before I could see it happening, his hands were gripping my ass, and he was pulling me up against the wall so that I was wrapped around him. I could feel him through those pants – strong, hard, and ready for me – and I was dying to see it with my eyes.

“Show me your cock,” I told him.

His eyes seared through me wickedly as he obliged, setting me back down and fumbling over the fly with fingers so large, I could only imagine how his other appendages looked. But I didn’t have to imagine for long. He unbuttoned, unzipped, reached a hand down his pants, and looked me square in the eye.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Oh, definitely,” I answered, biting my lip as I waited to see all of him.

He grabbed my hand gently and placed it against him, then slowly, carefully, seductively, he buried it into his jeans, and just as I was about to get a handful, he leaned closer and yelled.

“Wake up!”

Wake up?

“Lana, we’re here, wake up!”

I managed to open my eyes and face reality, which is easier said than done for me. There stood Bobbi, not Jeremy, over me, waking me up to let me know we were now in Paris.

Are you fucking kidding me? I was fucking dreaming? Again?

We took the small bus back to the hotel, and I fell into my bed to continue my sleep. I turned off all the phones, hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, and drifted away, this time dreamless. Thank the gods.

With no interviews the following morning, I spent my entire day in stylist’s Heaven, dropping by Parisian boutiques and designer headquarters, picking up a few things for me from the former and a few things for my clients from the latter. These dresses, these jumpsuits, these glorious sweaters were so finely made, so high fashion, so elegant, I never wanted to leave these shops. This was one of those days when I loved my job.

I had just stepped out of a little shop called Louis Vuitton. Ever hear of it? I felt my phone buzzing, and I set down my roughly 85 bags to answer.

“Hey, Scarlett.”

“Hey, babe,” she answered. “You get the news about the party tonight?”

“No one tells me anything,” I told her, since it seemed to be the truth lately.

“Sam’s throwing us a rooftop party, sort of an impromptu thing,” she told me. Sam? Wasn’t he just a German fling?

“I was wondering if you could come by and pick something out for me. And I don’t know if your fuck buddy’s gonna need help, too, but he is going to be there, for sure.”

“He’s not my fuck buddy,” I laughed, remembering the dream I had the day before. Man, did I wish he was more than ever now, though. “I just left Louis Vuitton,” I continued. “I can be there in an hour.”

“Did you pick me up something pretty?” she asked. “You know that’s pretty much my favorite place in the world, right?”

“I know,” I told her. “I showed them that I was working for you, and they practically threw the stuff at me.”

As promised I returned to the hotel in under an hour, and I dressed her in a lovely cream lace dress. Playing with her hair was almost as intoxicating as playing with Jeremy’s, and I spent an hour making her curls come together into a ridiculously beautiful updo. And then came the Louis Vuitton accessories to complete it. This girl was, for lack of a better term, the most mind-numbingly magnificent creature on earth, and if I ever had any notion that maybe I could steal Jeremy’s heart away from her, I was an idiot.

“Wow,” she smiled into the mirror. “I’d do me.”

“You do look amazing.”

She played with the dress and picked up her phone, about to call Jeremy and ask if he needed me. But she stopped first, her thumb on his number, and she looked up at me. “Wanna come?” she asked.

“What, tonight?” I couldn’t believe she was actually inviting me. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “You do all the work making us all cute, and you never get to enjoy those things. Besides, I’d like you to meet Sam. He’s got connections, you know.”

I didn’t give a flying fuck about his connections. I just wanted to go to a party. “Absolutely,” I told her. “I can’t wait!”

“Ok!” she screeched. “Oh, but Sam’s coming for me with his driver. You’ll have to ride with Jeremy and Reggie.”

Great.

“That’s fine,” I told her. And it was. It had to be.

She continued with calling him, but he said he didn’t need me. Of course I was overthinking everything and wondered if he was avoiding me, but I didn’t have time to care too much. I had a party to get ready for.

At nine, I was waiting for the guys in the private lobby. They were supposed to be down 15 minutes ago, but I hadn’t seen a trace of them since. I could see the driver still waiting outside as he had been for a half an hour, and I began to wonder whether I should call Reggie and see where they were. I tugged self-consciously at my black leather skirt that suddenly seemed far too short to suit me. Then as I pulled out my phone, I noticed a familiar figure heading my way, dressed in one of my favorite outfits, hair unkempt but perfect, hands slipped into those metallic pockets, a slight smile on his face as he greeted me.

“Wow,” I told him. “You really didn’t need my help.”

“I liked this one,” he told me, looking down at the vest he’d worn a few days before. “I could have gone with something new, I guess, but I stuck with this one.”

“You look very handsome,” I said. “Where’s Reggie?”

“Oh, he’s not coming,” he answered. “He hates parties.”

I nodded, trying not to smile so much that he could see how happy I was that it would be just the two of us in that car.

“Shall we?” he asked, crooking his arm out to escort me.

I looped my hand into his elbow, and we walked to the car. I was so sad this entrance to the hotel was so private – I wanted everyone to be taking pictures of this.

I was beyond grateful when he began talking almost immediately after we left. If he was making conversation, that meant I wouldn’t need to.

“So how do you like Paris so far?” he asked. “Ever been here before?”

“This is my first time, actually. And I love it. Especially the shopping.”

“You went shopping today?”

I nodded.

“Did you pick me up something pretty?”

What the hell were they? Twins?

“I got some really neat stuff,” I replied. “You’ll like it.”

“I hope so,” he smiled, crossing his legs.

“Hey, you’re wearing another pair of those socks!” I laughed as I pointed to the argyle pattern on his ankle.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stuttered. “I actually kinda liked the blue.”

“They’re nice on you,” I told him.

He just nodded and then was silent for a few minutes. There was an elephant in the room, and I was wondering when he would start talking about it. I didn’t need to wait too long.

“So I thought Sam was just a German thing,” he said finally. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“I don’t know for sure,” I told him. “I know he’s got connections, though. That’s what Scarlett told me.”

“Connection, huh?” He pondered. “You think he’s just using her?”

“I never said that,” I told him adamantly. “I think Scarlett really likes him, and we should be happy for her.”

“Yeah I am, but I need to look out for her too,” he said. “I don’t know this guy from Adam.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were jealous. Maybe try being nice to the guy tonight. Who knows, you might end up being friends.”

The party was incredibly dull for me. I mean, everyone else seemed to be having a blast, but they were passing Scarlett around like the flu, and I was stuck alone for a majority of the night. I was on my third cherry vodka, feeling the effects slowly rolling over me, sitting on the party patio poolside when someone finally approached me.

“You all alone tonight?”

I looked around and up to a very tall, lean man in a black suit. He was very handsome, dark hair, blue eyes, an accent, someone who had obviously noticed I wasn’t a local.

“I am now,” I said. “Wanna seat?”

He sat beside me. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka with cherries. It’s incredible.”

“Let me get you another,” he said as he waved for a server.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. This is my third, and I really need to cut myself off.”

“Do you mind if I have another Scotch?”

I didn’t, and he ordered one while we sat together.

“My name is Milo. What is yours?”

“Lana,” I answered.

“Tell me, Lana, what movies have you been in?”

“Oh, I haven’t been in any movies,” I informed him. “But thank you for thinking I could be.”

“Not even one movie?” he asked. “Why are you here then?”

“My friend invited me,” I told him. “Is that okay?”

“I just thought you were from Hollywood,” he answered. “But you are not.”

“Nope. I’m from Indiana.”

He smiled begrudgingly. “I am going to check on that drink,” he said. “Excuse me.”

He left just then, and after ten minutes I realized he wouldn’t be returning. Normally, maybe I would have been sad, but 3 drinks in… make that 4… I was kind of numb to rejection. I looked around at the progress of the party and noted that it was still going strong. I think if Scarlett had had any idea of how badly it was going for me, she would have come to rescue me, but every time I saw her, she was schmoozing with some producer or being doted upon by one person or another or hanging onto Sam, showing public displays of affection, which were very rare for her. I had to smile, though. Seeing her happy made me feel better about being there.

“Fucking party blows,” Jeremy said as he stood beside me suddenly. “How much longer were you thinking of staying?”

“Not much longer,” I said. “I’ll leave now, if you want.”

“This beer sucks,” he told me, knocking it back. “I wanna go back to Germany.”

“I’ll call a driver,” I told him. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No, we’ll just grab a cab. Go say goodnight to your buddy.”

I tried to break up Scarlett’s little pack to say goodbye, but she was barely able to speak. We got in a brief hug, but soon I was downstairs again, standing on the corner with Jeremy flagging down a taxi.

The ride home was relatively silent. We’d both had a fair amount of booze, and even though I wasn’t as tired as alcohol usually made me, I couldn’t find any words to make into a half-way decent conversation. But when we arrived at the hotel, he had plenty to say.

“What does she see in him, anyway?” he asked.

“He’s cute,” I answered. “And rich. And successful. And nice…”

“Yeah, but,” he shook his head as we stumbled to the elevator. “It just feels like I’ve been trying to find the perfect person for a really long time. Then I find her, and she isn’t interested.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I told him honestly. “She seems happy, and if you really love her like you say you do, you should be happy for her.”

“So just like that? Be happy for her? Move on?”

“Yes. Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“Well I’ve been with a lot of women since she turned me down, and it hasn’t helped.”

He stopped at my floor first, and he exited with me to help me to my door.

“Find someone you care about,” I told him. “Don’t just sleep with strangers who don’t mean anything to you. Sleep with someone you could see a future with. Maybe not the whole marriage and kids thing, but someone you really want in your life. That’ll help you move on.”

As we reached my door, I fumbled through my clutch for the key card, and he stood in front of me. I could feel the heat of his body even through our jackets, and the smell of booze and cologne was strangely enticing. I tried to ignore it, the lost cause in front of me, but between being slightly drunk and having felt these dirty thoughts for as long as I had, I had to look up to him to see what his eyes were doing.

They stared at me. He wasn’t smiling or brooding or looking down on me. He was looking into my eyes like he looked into her eyes. No, not with the love-struck look, but I could swear I saw some of that lust he carried for her. He looked also like he might have been about to say something, and before I had a chance to hear it, my fingers slipped across the card, and I pulled it from the purse.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I said.

“Lana?”

“Yes?”

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

I think I blushed, though my whole face had probably already been red for a while.

“And you’re beautiful. And you’re one of the sweetest, funniest girls I’ve ever known. I mean that.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” I whispered because talking seemed like it might ruin the moment.

“You really are, you know, beautiful.”

“Well thank you for saying that.”

He hand gripped my elbow suddenly, and without time to wonder what was about to happen, it happened. He reached forward, kissing my mouth softly, then pulling away just as quickly as he had come toward me.

“You wanna come in?” I asked. It was a gamble, but if ever I had a chance, this seemed to be it.

He nodded silently, and I opened the door. He stepped in behind me, removing his jacket and placing it on the chair. Once inside, I did the same, and I threw my purse next to the TV and stepped closer to him until we were chest-to-chest, his breaths heavy on me, my eyes not breaking from the stare I employed on his body.

My fingers played along the top button of his vest as he pulled my chin up softly and planted another kiss on my lips. As I felt such a simple motion, nothing but his lips on mine, I changed it up a bit by slipping my tongue inside his mouth. As soon as I had done that, things sped up drastically, and his hands even tugged at my hair roughly as our mouths wrestled with each other against the dim light of my desk lamp.

I moved my hands and my gaze back to his vest, slipping the top button through the hole, moving to the next, taking my time as I had done so many times before. No, this wasn’t the first time I had undressed him, but it was by far the best.

As I moved down the row, he spread his lips over my neck, nibbling slightly at the touch of my skin, his hands now caressing my back tenderly while I finally reached that last button. I pulled the vest back, tossing it carefully on to the chair. I didn’t want to ruin this suit. Goddamn, he’d wear this one again for sure.

He began to pull at the knot in his tie, loosening it, tugging at it roughly while are mouths were reunited. I took over for him, placing his hands on my hips while I pulled at his tie, at first using it to draw him closer to me, then removing it because I needed to get that shirt off and see that body. Finally I had removed it, and just as I had done so, we had reached the bed, and ungracefully we fell into it, him on top of my for a second before we switched, and I pulled up away from him, straddling him, carefully applying the science of button removal to his shirt. His hands caressed my forearms as he watched me looking at him. I must have had such fire in my eyes, if they looked at all like what I was feeling.

I pulled his shirt back off him and saw the undershirt.

“Dammit, how many layers are you wearing?”

“I won’t ever fucking wear an undershirt again, I fucking promise,” he said in a raspy whisper as he pulled my face down and smothered it in kisses.

My hands fell to his crotch, and feeling his hard, bulging dick through his pants sent a shock through my system and I swear I had a teeny tiny orgasm right then and there. I quickly had his pants unhooked and unzipped, and when I reached inside, I grabbed a hold of him, every bit as epic as I had heard it to be, and pulled it from the pants, rubbing it slowly but with a tight grip, watching as his face contorted into all manner of unusual forms while I jacked him off.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “Take your clothes off.”

I pulled off the sweater I’d been wearing all night, then pulled the bra over my head without even unhooking it. He looked up at my boobs as they sat there in front of them, and his hands wasted no time moving up to them, holding them roughly, his thumbs playing over my nipples as I tried to keep the focus on removing my clothes.

I pulled my skirt up to my waist, then pulled down my panties. I sat on top of him, practically naked, and I had to keep kissing him. I’d never kissed a man with such soft, well-rehearsed lips.

I reached for my boots, but he grabbed my arm. “Leave them on,” he said.

I had almost mounted him before I remembered to mention that I didn’t have any condoms.

“Neither do I,” he said. “Shit.”

“Ok, well…”

“You want me to go get some?”

“Not really,” I told him. “You can just pull out, unless we need to use one for… other… reasons…”

“No, I’m good, I swear,” he said. “You are, too, right?”

“Clean as a whistle,” I told him as we continued.

He gripped my hips, which had before been settled on his waist, and scooted me to his lap until I felt the hard poke of his dick. He didn’t need to urge me any further. I took a hold of him and climbed atop, my circle skirt covering the entire area as I lowered myself onto him. Shit, this was good.

I pressed my palm flat on his chest, looking into his eyes once again, urging him silently to direct me.

“Yes,” he whispered, “That’s it.”

He seemed to enjoy the current pace, so I kept at it, rising from him, falling back onto him rather than riding him. I bounced on top of him, and his eyes watched my tits, obviously enjoying the show, and his hands grabbed a hold of my knees as they were splayed on either side of them. He guided his hands up my thighs, grazing the skin ever so gently, until both hands were under my skirt.

“Slowly now,” he said.

His hands now held my hips down to him, and he did the work at this point, lifting his hips up into me, pushing inside me with a sudden forcefulness I thoroughly enjoyed. Oh, god, I wanted to tell him to do it harder, but I was here for him right now, and if this is what he wanted, he could have it his way.

“Let me get on top,” he told me.

We switched, and he grabbed my wrists, pulling them over my head, pinning them to the pillow as he entered me again. He began to bite lightly at my earlobe while he picked up his pace, faster, harder into me, his groans becoming louder, more deliberate, the strength of his body against me, his pants still at his ankles, our drunken bodies releasing all inhibitions, and it felt amazing.

My toes traced along his calves, his hands still holding me down, my body completely at his mercy. Every time he pushed into me, I felt a new jolt, each one stronger than the one before, slowly but surely building into a climax I had never reached before. I could never orgasm through penetration alone, but the way he plowed into me, this rough pace where I was at his mercy, made me feel like it might just happen tonight.

With his head beside mine, this was a closeness I suddenly realized I never had with anyone. No, the physical closeness was familiar, but not the closeness I felt with him when it came to us, me and Jeremy, fan and celebrity, was unreal. I knew I was close, but when he raised his head and looked me in the eye once more, it happened.

It wasn’t one of those oh-god, oh-god, oh-god orgasms, but rather one where my entire mind, body, and soul were involved. I can’t quite explain it, but it was like I felt the orgasm all over my body, not just in the usual places. He could do this to me by simply looking at me, and I wanted to give him his crowning moment as well.

I pulled my ankles up, releasing myself from his grip carefully, and placed my ankles on his shoulders. He smiled, pleased, and continued, resting his hands behind me on the headboard, picking up the pace even faster.

Suddenly, he pulled away, and I watched as he began to jack off onto the sheets. My hands moved to help him just in time, and we touched him together as he had his moment, after which we ripped off the sheet in one swift motion and collapsed into the sea of pillows.

We lay there for a moment, then he stood, pulling his pants back up and grabbing his shirt.

“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry if it wasn’t too good.”

“It was, though,” I told him. “You want to stay tonight?”

“Can’t, sorry.”

He buttoned up his shirt and moved toward me. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. He leaned in to kiss me, gripping my lips with his, touching my cheek ever so softly before he turned away.

He left, and it took me a moment to realize what had just happened. I lay back down in the disheveled mess, staring blankly at the vest and jacket he had left on my chair, and I curled up in the blankets.

And I wondered if it was a dream. And I smiled because I knew it wasn’t. Still, a part of me was in denial, unable to grasp the reality of the fact that he would ever notice me, much less sleep with me.

And so I lay back, waiting to wake up until I finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy and Lana have slept together! But is it everything she ever wanted?


	9. Come and Get Me

I slept so well that night that my brain was afraid I would oversleep, and it woke me up 3 minutes before my alarm went off.

Surprisingly, the only clues that I had been drinking the night before were the tell-tale dark circles under my eyes. A little cover-up could fix that. And, oh, right, his clothes were still there.

I was still in shock a little that the previous night had even happened. Surprisingly, every detail was still crystal-clear in spite of my intoxication, and as I relived it in my mind, it only got better and better each time I remembered a moment or a smile or a look that I hadn’t recalled with the thought before.

I gripped the jacket he had worn, a black wool peacoat, and I raised it to my nose, inhaling his scent, reliving everything for the umpteenth time in the few brief minutes I had been awake.

I looked over at the crumpled up sheet on the floor. What would the housekeeper think? But I had been a housekeeper before, and I know they see far worse things than that.

I stepped into the shower, singing something cheery, though I forget what… probably something by the Beatles. I was undeniably happy for so long that morning, but there was always that question in the back of my mind.

Why didn’t he stay?

I had to act professionally, so I grabbed Scarlett’s outfit, silver slacks with a red floral blouse, nude heels, and a black blazer just in case, and I headed to meet her at her room.

“Can I help you?”

Sam had answered the door, and this was the first time I’d heard him speak. He was American?

“I’ve got Scarlett’s things here,” I told him.

“And you are…?”

“Lana,” I answered. “The stylist.”

“Hold on; let me she if she’s seeing anyone this morning.”

Let me see if she’s seeing anyone this morning? Who did he think he was, freakin’ Jeeves?

“Hey, kiddo,” she said, answering the door. “Sorry about that. My Sammy’s just so protective of me,” she smiled uneasily.

“Oh, no problem. Here ya go,” I said, handing her the clothes.

She took them into the bedroom, and I stood waiting as Sam stood immediately beside me. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.

I shook it, but I also told him there was no need to be so formal. I was nothing to write home about – just the wardrobe girl.

“You sure know a thing or two about how to dress,” he smiled creepily. “Look at those pants you’ve got on.”

I looked down at my harem pants. They were nothing special, and not especially flattering, but I took it as a compliment. “Uh, thanks. I studied fashion pretty hard so that I would know my stuff.”

“But if I may make a suggestion,” he said as he stepped in front of me, “Perhaps one more button…”

He reached his hand forward to unbutton the top button of my blouse. I was too shocked to do anything but stand there as he touched me.

He stepped back, and I stood, speechless. I couldn’t determine whether what he had just done was an inappropriate advance or a helpful suggestion.

“Thanks, but I think I liked it as it was,” I told him, quickly buttoning back up.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “But I am a man, and I know what men look for in the way a woman dresses.”

“Well I don’t dress for men,” I said. “I dress for myself.”

As I told him this, Scarlett emerged, looking professional as ever, dressed to the nines in this outfit that had been hand-picked for her by the designer.

“It’s perfection!” I told her. “How do you want your hair today?”

“Up again,” she said. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

“No, baby,” he told her as he massaged her shoulders. “Down. I love when you wear it down. It’s so sexy.”

As he began to nibble on her neck, she gave in, though I could tell she didn’t exactly want to.

“As you wish,” I said, brushing through it. “How about we meet in the middle and do a side-swept thing?”  
“Sounds good to me,” she smiled.

“No, no,” he insisted.

Scarlett put up a fight once more, but she eventually gave in.

I think I kind of hated him.

There wasn’t much I could do about Sam except wait for her to figure it out, which I had no doubt she would do soon. And when she did, I would hold open the door for him to leave, extend my foot to kick his ass to the curb, and drive the car that took him straight to hell.

I made my way to Jeremy’s room, a chemistry of happiness and hesitation flowing inside me. I decided firmly that I wouldn’t mention anything about the night before, and when I knocked on his door, I was beyond relieved to find him alone.

“Hey,” he smiled as I stepped inside.

I let out a sigh of breath I’d been holding in for what seemed forever. “Hey.”

He cocked his head to the side and kissed me quickly and gently before we walked to the closet. “Let’s switch it up today,” he told me. “I think maybe I should wear something green.”

“O – ok,” I stuttered. “Green’s a great color. Ha ha, green is great! Great green!”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

He had been fond of this one green sweater in particular since it had arrived for him back in Germany, but I’d been waiting until the new pants came in, and when I got them – brown pants with a subtle orange line down either side – I knew this was the outfit he would wear.

Instead of excusing himself to the back bedroom to change, he stood right there in front of me as he tore the old t-shirt over his head. Then he slipped his thumbs under the waistband of the shorts, pulling them down slowly as he continued to look me in the eye.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He knew what he was doing.

“Changing,” he answered with a shrug.

“Any thoughts on last night?”

He smirked as he answered. “I think it was fun,” he said. “I think I’m very grateful you came to that party.”

“And… about the… bedroom… stuff…?”

“Look, Lana,” he said as he approached me. “It was fun.”

“Really fun,” I told him.

“Really fun. And we’ve become friends now, which is why I want to thank you for being there for me when I needed you.”

“But other than that, no thoughts on it?”

“I thought it was good,” he smiled.

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

I bit my lip as I thought. “And you know, if we were that good drunk, can you imagine us sober?”

I watched as his eyes played towards the sky and he pondered my words. You think it would be even better sober?”

“I really do, yeah!” I answered enthusiastically before he had even quite finished his question.

He looked down at his watch. “We’ve got about 15 minutes before David brings me breakfast,” he said. “You think we can do it?”

“All I need is 5,” I answered.

He raced to unzip the sides of my pants as I worked on removing the shirt and slipping out of my heels. He grabbed me by the ponytail and pulled me too his face, and his lips held mine as we made our way to the bedroom. But we didn’t make it. He stopped me in the doorway, which was too narrow for us both to enter at the same time, and we sort of just fell on the floor there, wrestling with each other on the floor until we had decided on a position that would work.

He reached around me to unhook the bra, but I reached in front and undid the latch between the cups. “Nice,” he said.

“Oh, buddy, we’re just getting started!” I almost screamed out of enthusiasm.

Though he was on top of me, I wanted to take control, and I pulled the back of his hair lightly, urging him to give me dominance. He smirked slyly at my touch, and he moved next to me. I think he assumed I was going to get on top, but I had something else in mind.

“Get behind me,” I said. “And take off those fucking boxers.”

He did as he was told, then reached for my panties.

“No,” I said. “Rub your cock against my ass.”

His eyes grew wide, and he obliged without hesitation. Rising to his knees, he rubbed his hard dick on the material of my underwear, teasing himself as I hoped he would do. The anticipation always makes the final product even better.

“I’m gonna bolt that fucking door from the inside,” he told me. “I want more than fifteen fucking minutes with you.”

“No, leave it like it is,” I told him after he’d stood. “Isn’t it kinda hot that someone could walk in here at any minute and find us in this compromising position?”

“You are a bad girl,” he whispered as he returned to his knees.

“Then you should probably spank me,” I said as I peeked over my shoulder and winked at him.

He slapped me lightly just once, but he seemed afraid to do much more. “Tell me I can please have some of this now,” he whispered.

I moved from all fours to my knees and turned to face him. “Check this out,” I said.

“You found panties with pockets?” he laughed. “Only you.”

I pulled a condom from the pocket.

“Oh, God bless the angel who designed these fucking panties!” he exclaimed.

I handed him the packet and returned to all fours. I could hear him fumbling, struggling nervously with the wrapper to beat the clock. I could hear him pulling it on, and then I felt him, his kisses warm on my back before I felt anything else.

Imagine the most amazing experience, kisses trailing down from the nape of your neck to the crack of your ass, every vertebrae included in the taste from the lips of the one you were with. It’s great right? Now imagine that was Jeremy doing that to you.

Yeah.

It was that fucking good.

He reached around to grope my breasts and the nipples newly hardened from the shivers of pleasure he’d sent through me. Then I felt his cock against my ass, sliding down the wet surface of my cunt, slowly and carefully entering me. Once inside, He straightened back up and gripped my hips, thrusting into me, slowly at first.

“Harder,” I ordered. “Faster. Pull my hair.”

He grabbed a hold of my ponytail and then forcefully jolted his hips so that I almost fell over from the force. Every time his body clashed with mine, he let out a grunt or groan or moan.

“Fuck yes,” he shouted.

I pulled away and removed the panties that had settled at my knees.

“What are you doing?”

I crawled into the bedroom on all fours. “Come and get me.”

He followed behind as I approached the bed, bending myself over the edge of it.

He stood, positioning himself behind me, and I threw my hands behind my back as if I were getting arrested.

I didn’t have to tell him what to do. Instinctively, he grabbed both wrists with his hands as he continued to fuck me, my face pressed so roughly against the sheets that I could see the makeup I left behind.

I could feel his dick against my g-spot so much better in this position, and just as I was about to cum, we heard the voice of David ringing Jeremy’s name from the other room.

“Shit!” Jeremy yelled as he jumped to slam the door shut. He bolted the bedroom door, then looked at me.

“It’s not my fault you lasted so long,” I told him.

“Get the fuck back on that bed,” he told me as he came closer. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He turned me around and pushed me back onto the bed, then pulled my ass to the edge.

“Jeremy?”

“Shit, fuck, go away, David!” He yelled. “Kinda busy here!”

“We’ve got exactly 8 minutes,” he yelled back.

“Give me five,” Jeremy answered, and I almost laughed.

He spit in his hand and applied it to my clit, rubbing me a bit, moistening the already wet entrance before he continued.

His cock was so erect, I thought he’d pick me up with it when he got it inside me. The slight curve he had hit me in all the right places, and when his forefinger and thumb lightly squeezed my clit, I lost it, letting out an involuntary scream before quickly settling down.

Seeing me cum, seeing how he had pleasured me must have been a huge turn on for him, because the look in his eyes as he watched me make what must have been a god-awful facial contortion was unlike any I had seen him make. And then he gave one final thrust, holding my legs high in the air with his hands, and I could feel the warmth of his cum as he met the release we’d been aiming for.

Exhausted, he fell forward on top of me, his arms cradling my head for a moment as he planted kisses on my nose.

“All done, are we?” David yelled.

“This fuckin’ guy,” Jeremy said in a shake of his head. He rose and stepped into the bathroom, emerging in a new pair of shorts, and left the room.

I lay in his bed while he was out there since I knew it would take me some time to recover. But through the thin walls I could hear his conversation with David.

“Yeah, let me go change,” Jeremy said.

“Who the hell is in there?” David asked.

“Just some girl I picked up. Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Just some girl I picked up?

When he came back into the bedroom to change, I looked up at him in disappointment.

“I take it we’re not telling people?”

He looked at me, knowing now that I must have heard. “Why would we?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Because it’s better than lying?”

“I’ve got five minutes here, Lana, you really wanna discuss this now?”

I said that I supposed not, and I rose to dress. I had only gotten into my bra and panties before I had to comb his hair.

I stood in front of his as he nibbled at an egg white sandwich, and I fixed his hair into a proper fashion for the occasion.

“All set,” I told him. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” he said. He stood and held my arms in his own, pulling me too him as he spoke to me softly. “I’m not ashamed of you. I just don’t want to make this into a big thing. It’s not, you know.”

“I know,” I nodded, and it was true.

He kissed me sweetly on the cheek as he left.

“This probably shouldn’t happen anymore, either,” I told him.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was sure fun, though.”

I approached him, determined to obtain one last kiss before it was all over, but his phone rang, and he answered before I could reach him.

“See ya tomorrow,” he mouthed to me as he headed out the door.

“See ya tomorrow,” I answered.


	10. Reality

Another party? Are you friggin’ kidding me?

But yes, Sam was throwing a farewell party for those involved in the press tour, no matter how small a role they played, which meant that I was invited. Hopefully this didn’t blow like his last party.

The only silver lining I saw was that now that we were headed all the way to Tokyo, Scarlett’s demanding, overprotective boyfriend wouldn’t be anywhere near her for at least the next two weeks before he headed back to America for the last leg of the trip. Besides that fact, though, I had to reschedule wardrobe appointments, move Scarlett’s hair color treatment, and reject the gifts from Chanel because I wouldn’t have time to pick them up.

I don’t really know why everyone was bending over backwards for Sam, but I guess he was some kind of a big deal. I knew he had connections, everyone knew that, but what they were and why Reggie was so intent on following at Sam’s command was beyond me. It still is.

The party wasn’t quite as bad as the one from the other night. Scarlett was a little more free to roam, and she even checked in on me. Heeding similar results from earlier in the week, I stayed away from the alcohol, sipping on glasses of ice water as I mingled with guests who didn’t actually give a fuck who I was.

“Enjoying yourself?”

I had almost run face-first into Sam, tall drink of water that he was, and he stopped me as I was about to head down the stairs.

“You’ve got a beautiful place here,” I said. “Very nice. Thanks for having us.”

“Have you had a chance to see my art collection?” he asked pretentiously. “I have an original Monet in my grand parlor.”

“An original?” I asked, obviously hesitant to believe such a story. “I doubt that.”

“Come have a look for yourself,” he smiled.

Goddammit, I couldn’t figure out if he was pretentious or charming, and I followed him inside the spacious mansion, down a dim hall, and finally into a parlor that looked more like a ballroom to me.

“That’s not a Monet,” I told him as he showed me the claimed painting.

“You know your art,” he smiled. “You’re right. I painted this one myself. Do you like it?”

No. It was awful.

“It’s… very quaint,” I answered. “No one would ever mistake this for a Monet, though.”

He chuckled. “Ah, you are a tease, aren’t you?” he asked as he approached me, standing even closer than the already uncomfortable distance he’d been at before.

“I’m gonna go back out there,” I said with a polite, albeit completely manufactured smile. “Lovely place. Really.”

He grabbed my forearm roughly as I began to leave. “Stay just another minute,” he said. “Talk to me.”

“Why do I have a feeling you want to do more than talk?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to pull my arm away.

He pulled me by my wrist and held my hand to the bulge in his pants. “I said, stay,” he barked.

Somehow I managed to pull away and leave, and he didn’t bother running after me. Fear ran through me straight to my bones, hitting the marrow and causing a feeling of betrayal and guilt in me that I couldn’t erase. I stood at the door of his home now, catching my breath, holding back tears, trying not to seem too obvious in the way that I appeared. I searched the crowd for Jeremy, hoping he could save me, not caring whether I was his friend or his lover or his least favorite person in the world. He was the only man here that I trusted.

He was talking to Scarlett over by an ivy-covered trellis, and they looked like star-crossed lovers against an ideal backdrop. I had to approach them, separate them, tell Jeremy everything that happened and obtain his wisdom for the situation. But he was with her, and I knew tearing himself from her side would be nearly, if not completely impossible.

“I need to talk to you,” I told him softly as I patted him on the shoulder. “It’s important.”

“I’m right in the middle of something here, Lana,” he answered. “Give me a minute.”

“Jeremy, seriously,” I said.

“You better talk to her,” Scarlett told him.

He rolled his eyes like he was a child, and it annoyed the hell out of me, but there was no time to address that now.

“I need your help.”

“Why?”

“Sam made a move on me,” I told him.

His eyebrows became crooked and his focus was finally on me. “What?”  
“He made a move,” I repeated.

“When?”  
“Just now.”

“Where?”

“Inside. In the parlor.”

I could see the ire growing inside him as his ears turned red and his lips curled down into a frown even worse than usual. “That fucking asshole,” he said under his breath.

“Jeremy, look, I promise I didn’t mean to entice him, I just – “

“Entice him?” he repeated. “Fuck that! The guy had no excuse!”

The way he was standing up for me even though I felt I was to blame was so heroic to me. So… sexy.

“What did he do exactly?” he asked.

I explained the story, and when I told him he made me touch him, Jeremy blew his top, which is something that only happens once in a blue moon.

“Should I tell Scarlett?” I asked. “I should, right?”

“Fuck yeah,” he answered. “Want me to come with you?”

I thought for a second, wondering whether that was really the best idea. “No. Yes. Wait… no. No. Wait, yes. Okay, yeah come with me.”

We made our way to her as she stood with him now. About 5 feet from them, I turned to Jeremy. “No. Stay here. I need to do this alone.”

I made my way to Scarlett, and it killed me as she sipped a fresh glass of champagne that I was about to ruin her happiness. Sure, she’d only known the guy about a week now, but she was crazy about him. Should I not tell her?

No. I had to.

“Hey, Scarlett,” I interrupted, “Can we talk?”

“Is it secret night or something?” she asked in a chuckle.

“It’s important,” I said.

Sam’s eyes glared at me from behind Scarlett’s back as she faced me. “What’s up?”

“Privately,” I told her as I looked right back in his eyes, unwilling to back down.

“Excuse me, baby,” she said, turning to Sam.

“No, no, no,” he insisted, pulling her arm as he had mine not too long ago. “You can talk here.”

Jeremy stepped in before I even saw, and he pulled Sam’s arm away from Scarlett. “Keep your filthy fucking hands to yourself, asshole.”

“Jeremy!” Scarlett exclaimed, shocked at his behavior. “What the hell, man?”

“This fucking pervert was all over Lana just a few minutes ago,” he said.

Welp, the secret was out. No need for privacy anymore, eh?

Scarlett’s eyes didn’t water, didn’t redden, didn’t show any signs of sadness, but the rest of her showed anger, and she looked right at Sam, not at me at all, and took a deep breath.

“Seriously?”

“She came on to me,” Sam explained in a lie, “I turned her down. Why would I ever want someone like her when I have you?”  
Finally, someone had said the words I’d thought for a long time but never had the courage to say out loud. Maybe in Indiana I’m a 7 – an 8 in the southern counties, maybe – but compared to her, well, I didn’t compare. I looked like The Blob next to her.

I turned to leave, sick to my stomach and angry and sad and scared that I’d lose my friend. I knew she was smart enough to know better, but what if she believed him? I’d lose my job for sure, and my life would never be the same. I mean, my life would never be the same anyway after this trip, but for other reasons.

I took a taxi back to the hotel and lay in my bed weeping for hours until I fell asleep. I hoped I might have another dream, something happy, something where I maybe wasn’t here anymore, just sitting at home, married to Jeremy as he smoked his pipe in his smoking jacket beside the fireplace while our three children ran around chasing our pet Boxer, the breeze blowing through the bay window, rustling the white satin curtains and causing our cat, Chairman Meow, to curl up at my feet as I knit wool sweaters for the family…

But for once I didn’t have a dream. Of course not.

The next morning, we all woke bright and early for the flight to Tokyo, a flight that would be extra-long and boring, and I would have no one to talk to back in poor person territory. Thank the gods I didn’t have to meet anyone this morning. Just go pick up my ticket and fly away.

I stepped into the lobby where Scarlett was waiting, obviously having had a run that morning. It had been a few days since she’d run, but she had always asked me to come. Not this morning.

She faced the elevator like she knew I was going to show up, and as the doors opened and I saw her, my mind raced with ideas on how to get out of facing her. I almost stayed in the elevator and just went back up, but I caught a glimpse of her smile, though it was only in the corner of her mouth, and I decided to join her.

“Hey, kid,” she greeted me with a hug.

“Hey to you,” I answered. “How are you?”

“Needed to clear my head this morning, that’s all,” she replied. “Wanna go get some coffee?”

“I gotta get to the airport,” I told her. “Our flight leaves in 2 hours.”

“You’ll fly with me, then,” she said. “I’ll get you on there.”

I didn’t question it, and with her arms around my shoulders I had never felt so safe with her. We walked outside to our driver’s car, and she had the keys in her hand, driving us to a nearby café on a street corner, something like you’d see in a painting. But speaking of paintings…

“Look, I’m sorry about last night,” I spoke as we sat. “I really didn’t think he’d - ”

“No, no, you don’t apologize,” she told me. “He was way out of line.”

“So… you believe me?”

“Over him? Definitely.”

I smiled a little, but realizing how heartbroken she was, I stopped myself.

“You know, I don’t know if anyone ever told you, but Jeremy and I used to be a thing,” she told me.

Yeah. No friggin’ kidding.

“Really?” I asked, as if I didn’t know. “What happened?”

“Well, we had known each other for a long time, and I knew he had a little crush on me, and then when we started working together, we became really close.”

She started to smile again as she talked about him. A few days ago, I would have been overjoyed at this. I would have been jumping off the walls excited that my dream couple had a chance. Now… not so much.

“I had just gone through a divorce and I was having a really tough time when I started seeing him,” she said. “And he was so good to me. He spoiled me, you know? And he was always there for me, and then he told me he loved me, and…”

I listened as her words trailed off and I started to feel her pain. Not because I had been there, but because I think I understood how Jeremy felt about her. Probably the way I felt about Jeremy.

Shit. I was Jeremy’s Jeremy and he was my Scarlett.

“I wanted things to end in our relationship, but I didn’t know how to tell him,” she continued. “So I just kind of stopped. And he never brought it up again, and neither did I, and somehow, magically, we retained our friendship in spite of everything.”

“You guys are really close,” I said. “Everyone thought there was something going on with you guys, since Jeremy adores you so much.”

“And I adore him,” she replied. “And I’m wondering if maybe I should give it another shot.”

It felt like she shot me just then.

“Really?” I asked. “Have your feelings for him changed?”

“No. I love him just as much as I ever have, I suppose. But he’s the only man who’s treated me right.”

I didn’t understand. She never was the type to need a man. I figured she’d take some time to be single, focus on her career, focus on herself. I never would have imagined her jumping from one relationship to the next. That just wasn’t her.

But I guess if ever there was just a dandy old time for the love of Jeremy’s life to go running into his arms, of course it would be now.

Now, when he was becoming the love of my life.


	11. Not Such a Pretty Past

“You think you could switch seats with me, hon?” Scarlett asked me as we boarded the plane. “I originally had the seat next to Jeremy, but I know he’s gonna wanna talk about last night, and I just can’t right now.”

“Of course,” I told her, rubbing her arm comfortingly. “Whatever you need.”

I wasn’t exactly thrilled about sitting next to him, either.

“Why” you ask?

Well, let me count the ways…

For one thing, I was so uncontrollably attracted to him that I knew a multi-hour, international flight would be too long a time to control myself. I didn’t say it might be. It would be. Absolutely no doubt there.

Secondly, I didn’t think we knew each other well enough for real conversation. Not for that long anyway.

And, oh yes, let’s not forget my favorite reason. Scarlett had mentioned oh-so casually just a few hours ago that she was thinking of giving it another try with him. If she did end up trying to get back with him, then sitting next to him would seem like my last meal on the way to the gas chamber. It seemed cruel for me to subject myself to sitting with him for that long, doing God-knows-what under the privacy of a mutual blanket or the restroom or however else we might find a way to get creative. Because after those hours, hours during which I just knew I would fall in love with him, I would have to hand him over to the woman he was meant to be with.

So yeah, I wasn’t crazy about sitting next to him. But Scarlett wanted me to switch, and I wanted to make her happy.

He was settled in before I went to Scarlett’s seat – my seat now – and he looked up at me with a curious glare.

“She wanted to sit in back,” I told him. “She’s not feeling well.”

“Oh,” he spoke in a sad tone as he looked back at her briefly. “Well I guess it makes sense. She had a rough night.”

I nodded quietly as I marveled at all the features first class had to offer.

“And how are you doing?” He asked.

I didn’t look at him because I was far too focused on all the extra leg room and the TV right there in front of me. “Me? I’m great.”

“Really, Lana,” he urged. “Be honest.”

I finally looked up to him, feeling confused at his insistence on my answering his question.

“Really,” I answered seriously. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Well the guy manhandled you, right? He was way over the line.”

“Yeah, but I’m a big girl,” I told him. “I’m over it.”

I could see why she didn’t want to talk about it with him. He was so protective, and sometimes he was too concerned. Concerned to the point of coming off a little bit annoying, even.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay at least,” he said. “If you want to talk about it, I’m right here.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The silence between us soon returned, and we were well into the clouds before he spoke again.

“So, I know you, but I don’t know anything about you,” he said. “Tell me.”

I was surprised he had any desire to hear. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

He chuckled lightly and leaned his head into the headrest. “I’m not tired, and we have nothing scheduled today,” he told me. “I’ve got all the time in the world to listen to you.”

“You want to listen to me?” I asked.

“Of course,” he smiled. “I like you.”

I like you.

“What do you want to know?” I asked. The boring stuff? Where am I from? When did I graduate? What’s my favorite color?”

“Would you rather have arms but no legs or legs but no arms?”

I laughed. “What?”

“Just answer the question.”

“It’s a ridiculous question,” I told him.

“It’s a thing,” he told me. “Come on, you have to answer.”

I smiled as I gave thought to the ridiculous question. “Arms with no legs,” I told him. “That way I could still flip people off.”

He grinned back at me. “Excellent. Now you ask me one.”

“Ok,” I thought. “Would you rather… live under water and swim at will, or live above ground but never leave the house?”

“Oh, good one!” he answered. “Probably the second one. I hate exercise anyway.”

We played a few more of those, his answers making me laugh, mine making him wonder, both of us discovering more and more about the other even though these weren’t even realistic questions.

“Would you rather be best friends with a spider or his number on enemy?”

“That’s not a fair question,” I told him. “I’m screwed either way!”

“Scared of spiders, are you? So typical.”

“Oh come on, you must have fears,” I told him. “What are you scared of?”

“Not spiders,” he answered in a snicker.

“Come on, tell me,” I prodded. “What are you scared of?”

He sighed, smiling in his cruel way, breaking my heart with the shake of his head. “Uh… let’s see… I guess I don’t care too much for heights.”

“Really? But flying doesn’t bother you?”

“Yeah, it does a little,” he said. “That’s why it’s so hard for me to sleep on planes. But I know they’re relatively safe, so it doesn’t bother me as much as, say, hanging out the window of the world’s tallest building.”

“Right,” I laughed. “I could never!”

He laughed with me for a moment, then explained the details of that scene in Mission: Impossible, how he was nearly injured by the harness he had to wear that day. His words, the way he talked with his hands and used an innumerable amount of facial expressions, these things turned me on like crazy. Occasionally his fingers would stray to his mouth, touching the corner of his lips. He would sometimes light up remembering a funny moment from his past, and his eyes would become surrounded by those little wrinkles. His lips, as if they weren’t seductively enchanting enough as they were, would every now and then play host to his tongue as he played it over them, briefly, moistening the surface. Something I would have gladly done for him.

The whole time, all I could think of was how glad I was that women don’t get boners.

“So where in Indiana are you from?” he asked. Somehow, though I can’t recall exactly why or when, we had gotten onto the subject of home towns.

“Just outside Chicago,” I told him. “Little town called Merrillville.”

“I love Chicago,” he said. “Best Italian beef in the world.”

“I know, right?” I answered excitedly, happy to talk about home and all the things I never thought I’d miss. “There’s this little Greek place I know there, Athens Elite, and they sell the most amazing gyros. I mean, watching that little rack of lamb spin around is like porn for me.”

“Porn, huh?” he smiled. “Guess it doesn’t take much.”

“Good food is just as important as a good body,” I told him. “Unfortunately, it seems impossible to have both.”

He nodded in agreement, looking into my eyes silently then, his mouth still smiling, his hands now resting on his knees. I tried not to stare at him. I tried to turn my gaze to the screen in front of me or to the view outside our window or to the back of the person’s head in front of me, or anywhere. Anywhere but into his eyes. His large, impossibly beautiful eyes.

“You should come see me sometime when we get back,” I said. “You’d like Indiana.”

His smile was polite, too much so, and he looked down finally. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

I could see this going somewhere neither of us wanted it to go – an awkward conversation neither of us was really sure had any meaning.

But I couldn’t deny that, just as I predicted, I was starting to fall in love with him. It wasn’t my fault – he made me do it! I mean, how could I talk to him and look at him and sit beside him for so long without falling victim to his charm. Just because we had called our physical relationship off, that didn’t mean I couldn’t still have feelings for him. Now that I didn’t have the sex to think about, all that was left were the feelings, and I had no choice but to face them.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked.

I knew what he meant, but I pretended I didn’t.

“We’re stuck next to each other for a few hours still,” he said. “Maybe we should have that conversation now.”

“I thought we were just gonna not talk about it,” I told him. “Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

He gave me those puppy dog eyes, eyes he knew I couldn’t resist, and he continued his slight smile as he continued. “I know how it goes when you don’t talk about stuff like this,” he started. “It doesn’t usually go well, in my experience.”

Finally his smile began to fade, and I could see him recalling the bad experiences of which he spoke.

“Can I ask you something that’s more or less personal?” I asked.

He nodded. “I don’t see why not.”

“I know you love her,” I said. “I mean obviously, you guys are close, and you’re friends, and you used to be together, but…” I tried to think about whether I should continue with what I was saying, and I decided I should. “Are you still in love with her?”

He looked away from me for the first time in a while, and I watched as his eyes searched for a place to rest, his mind apparently racing, looking for a way to tell me.

“I think being in love with someone requires two people,” he said. “Hence the phrase, ‘in love with.’”

“So if she felt about you the way you feel about her, you’d be able to say you were in love with her?”

“I don’t know,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “Things are never gonna be what they used to be.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been as conflicted by my feelings as I was when he said this. I didn’t know at this point if Scarlett was serious about trying again with Jeremy, but if she was, it saddened me to think he had an idea it wouldn’t ever be the same as it used to be. But for my sake, I was happy he felt this way. The reason for that should be obvious.

“So if you want to talk about this – us – what is it you want to say?” I asked him.

“I just want to say I’m sorry if I treated you roughly. It wasn’t right.”

I chuckled. “It’s okay, I like it rough.”

He laughed back at me, finally back to his smiling, cordial self. “You are a wicked woman,” he said with a wink.

That wink.

“But in all seriousness,” I told him. “It’s really very okay. I had a great time.”

“Does she know?” he asked, just like I was hoping he wouldn’t.

“No,” I replied. “I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone but you.”

“It’s nobody’s business but ours.”

Finally I had that something that no one else had with him. This is what I had wanted all along.

“So we’re good, right?” I asked him.

“Of course,” he smiled, placing his hand on my knee.

I looked at it as it sat there for several moments, even as his gazed turned outward to the clouds, and as he took a few sips of his coffee. Finally I felt like he was comfortable with me. I had been so worried about the tension, about his feelings for me (or lack thereof) getting in the way of our professional relationship. But now as I leaned my head back into the headrest, reclining slightly, feeling the warmth of his hand on my knee, I was finally able to feel calm enough not only to relax, but to drift into a peaceful sleep.

Tokyo was absolutely perfect. I’ve been on a lot of trips to a lot of cities, but Tokyo is definitely up there with some of my favorites. Now, with a clear mind, a clean slate with Jeremy and Scarlett, and fresh new fashion from the edgiest designers on the continent, I was back to normal.

Or as close to it as I would ever be.

The first day there was almost boring. I dressed my clients with minimal conversation related to relationships or sex or anything like that. I watched as Jeremy and Scarlett continued their lives, oblivious to the true feelings of the other, and maintained that perfect friendship. I was actually almost to the point of rooting for those two crazy kids to get together… but that would take a little bit more time.

I sat in my hotel room that evening and scheduled Scarlett’s color treatment, coordinated their outfits, and balanced the wardrobe budget as I watched the news. I was barely paying attention until the weather reporter began detailing the storm on the coast about fifty miles from us. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying, but I could see the weather was a concern.

The knock on the door just then was so faint I almost didn’t think I really heard it. But when it happened again, I answered, and in front of me in the threshold stood a sobbing Scarlett, her condition one I had never seen on her. I guess I kind of thought of her as invincible.

“Hey, kid,” I said as I greeted her.

She lunged toward me and almost fell against me. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” she cried in a whisper. “I need you.”

“Of course,” I told her as I held her, rubbing her back with one hand, patting her hair with the other.

She left me and fell into the covers, pulling them over her and curling the pillow under her head.

“Wanna talk about it?” I asked while I slipped in next to her.

“Not really,” she sighed.

“Okay. You just relax then. Want something to drink?”

“Why am I such an idiot with men?” she asked.

I guess we were talking about it.

“You’re not an idiot,” I said. “If dating a couple losers makes you an idiot, well, then I am the queen of the idiots.”

“You?” she asked, seemingly in disbelief. “You seem like you’d be super picky.”

“I am!” I said. “That’s the bad thing!”

“You know, I thought I was, too,” she said. “You get famous, and you take some pretty pictures, and then you attract all the weirdos. I thought I was making the best choices, but everyone has let me down. And hell yeah I want something to drink!”

I grabbed us the bottle I’d bought earlier in the day, and as I tried to find the tumblers, she began drinking from the bottle. Of course. How else did I expect her to drink it?

“Dude, I know how to make you feel better about your choices,” I said. “Just compare them to my choices.”

“One time I went on a date with a guy who asked me to invest $250,000 in his invention idea,” she told me. “On the first date.”

“One boyfriend dumped me while I was in the shower. He literally popped in, shouted that we should see other people, and left.”

“No friggin’ way!” she shrieked, finally cracking a smile. “Here, you deserve this more than I do.”

I accepted the bottle and took a drink. “Thank you for admitting I win.”

“Oh, I am definitely not admitting that,” she said. “We’re just getting started.”

“Oh god.”

 

“Yeah,” she continued. “One time, I walked in on my boyfriend sleeping with someone, and he looked me in the eye and said, ‘It’s not what it looks like, babe.’”

“This is all yours!” I said, handing her the bottle. “Drink up!” I watched as she took a gulp, and I didn’t have to think too long before I thought of my next story. “One time a guy texted me ‘let’s see a movie, honey,’ so I texted back that I thought that would be fun, and he texted back and said, ‘oops, wrong person.’”

“Hey!” she cheered as I took a swig. “One time I called my boyfriend and a woman answered. And when I asked who she was she paused for like 5 minutes, then said she was his mom. And his mom was dead.”

“Drinky, drinky!” I shouted, handing back the bottle.

At the loud sounds we were making, Bobbi knocked on the wall from the next room, indicating we needed to keep it down.

Scarlett’s raspy, hearty laughed was music to my ears and I had to join her. We laughed at how much we’d had to drink in such a short amount of time, laughed at how ridiculous our luck with men was, laughed at Bobbi for acting like the cranky old neighbor everyone hates to have.

“Your turn, kiddo,” she laughed as we started to settle down.

I had so many stories to choose from. I could have told her about Tony Bridges who slept with my best friend on prom night. I could have told her about Jack Lawrence who told me he was in college, but who was actually living in his car under a bridge. I could have told her about the guy who ended up being married with four kids, or the guy who told me I would be so much prettier if I lost 15 pounds, or the guy who insisted on only calling me “Erin” in bed. I could have told her all about every loser I had encountered. I had so many to choose from.

But no. I told her the one secret I swore I’d never tell her.

“I slept with Jeremy twice and now we’re just friends,” I said.

She stopped laughing. In fact she stopped making any sounds at all and she stopped moving.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” I asked cryptically. “I need to stop doing stuff like that.”

“You guys slept together?”

I laid flat on my back now, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t look at her because I didn’t know what she would say or how she’d think of me. She was so quiet over there on the other side of the bed, and I just knew she was going to spew out warnings and I-told-you-so and tell me what a huge mistake I’d made. Maybe she’d say worse, even. Maybe she’d remind me of how she had gone through something with him. Worse still maybe she’d remind me that she was still considering getting back together with him.

“Here, babe. You win.”

I grabbed the bottle and downed enough to get me to the point where I didn’t know whether I cared anymore or not.

“Do you hate me?” I asked her.

She cradled me in her arms and kissed the top of my head like she was my mother, or more appropriately, my big sister. “I can’t hate you, kid,” she said. “There’s no reason to, and even if there was, who can hate a face like this?”

She squeezed my jaw playfully, eliciting a giggle from me, snuggling beside me. I mean, high school sucked for the most part, but this reminded me of the good parts of high school. This was like the old sleepovers with Ally and Maisy and Jessie. It didn’t feel like I was working for a movie star. It felt like I was hanging out with my best friend.

“Am I an idiot, then?” I asked her. “Did I win the idiot contest?”

“No. You fell for a guy who didn’t feel the same way. It happens to the best of us.”

“So what do I do?”

She thought for a moment, holding me as we started to feel the sleepiness induced by the bottle. “Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yeah. On the plane.”

“Do you feel something for him? I mean, something serious?”

I should have thought before I told her the truth, but the wily woman had a truth spell on me. “I think I’m in love with him.”

She combed her fingers softly through my hair. “Oh, Lana, you beautiful, beautiful idiot.”


	12. Love

As I recall the details of this story, specifically those of that night, I cannot help but wonder how it was that I didn’t wake up the next morning too ashamed to go on with my duties. How did I face her after that confession?

And how did I face him?

But I did, somehow. I woke up beside her, imagining how lucky the men who had been in her life were to wake up next to that face. Imagining how the hell anyone could ever let that go. I continued to lay there for a moment, just savoring the feeling of a clear conscience, savoring a friendship in which someone really understood my problems, savoring the position my head was in on the pillow because every other position I tried to put it in made me violently ill.

I watched as the clocked turned to 5 minutes past the time I was supposed to wake up, then 10 minutes past, and then after 15, I made myself sit up, even though it only took another second for me to bolt to the bathroom.

I tried to make it to the toilet, honestly, but I didn’t. I puked on the floor first, then into the toilet finally. After heaving and coughing for a couple minutes, I heard footsteps behind me. Shit. I’d woken her up.

I was going to turn around to look at her, but I couldn’t without feeling incredibly dizzy. I don’t know what they put in that Japanese booze, but it’s wicked and evil and I hope it rots in hell.

Suddenly, I felt hands in my hair, holding it back as I bent forward again. I must have puked up half my body weight.

“It’s okay, honey,” she spoke as she rubbed my back. “It’s okay.”

“Thank you,” I finally managed to say as I caught my breath. “I’m sorry. This is so gross.”

I heard her soft, strange chuckle behind me at the same time I saw her hand beside me, holding a hand towel near my face. I grabbed it and wiped the corner of my mouth, remaining on the floor for another minute before I tried to stand.

“I think I’m done now,” I told her. “Wow. That was embarrassing.”

“Jeremy was right,” she said. “You are a lightweight.”

I didn’t bother asking how the subject had even come up with them. “I guess it’s finally time to admit he’s right,” I answered. “Oh, god, I want to die.”

I sat down in the armchair as Scarlett looked over the itinerary. “This says I’m wearing the tangerine lace Prada?”

“In the closet,” I pointed. “I was thinking you could wear the nude heels again.”

“Sounds charming,” she smiled. “I’ll grab it. You just chill.” She traveled to the closet, and I could hear her running my shower a moment later.

“I feel like death,” I said. “Please kill me now.”

When she returned, she held my favorite pair of shoes in her hand. “Can I borrow these?” she asked.

“Oh, babe,” I said, almost shaking my head but far too woozy for such a thing. “My feet are way too big for you.”

“Nine and a half, right?” she smiled. “They fit like a glove!”

All those times I ordered shoes for her, I never noticed we were the same size.

“But they’re just Maddens,” I said. “They’re, like, sixty-dollar shoes.”

“They’re hot,” she said. “I’m taking them.”

I was too sick to fight. “Fine, whatever.”

She approached me, holding me as she reached me. “Go get in the shower. I cleaned up the floor for you.”

“You did? But it was puke!”

“Well it’s not like I cleaned it with my tongue,” she laughed. “Come on, go get pretty for Jeremy.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

At this, she held me, her hands gripping my shoulders, holding me an arm’s length from her. “Come on, kiddo. Get going.”

She left, and I somehow managed to get into that shower. I have to admit it helped. Half a hangover was better than a whole one, and as I stepped out of the shower slightly improved, I noticed Scarlett rushing back in my room.

“I stole your key while I showered and changed,” she told me. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“You walked through the halls like that? With a towel around your head and no makeup on?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged.

I dried and styled her hair, curling a large section over one shoulder, noting the reflection in the mirror beaming back at me. She smiled, and it made me melt.

What a gal.

“You have really great feet,” she told me as I stood in front of her.

What an unusual comment… “Um, thanks,” I muttered.

“Man, he must have just gone crazy over those, huh?”

“Who?” I asked. “And what do you mean?”

“Jeremy!” she replied, looking up at me with a look that seemed to indicate I ought to know. “And his little foot fetish.”

“Jeremy has a foot fetish?” I asked.

Judging from her expression, she immediately regretted relaying that information to me. “Oh, I… I mean… he likes feet. I wouldn’t call it a fetish, exactly…”

“Yes you would,” I answered. “You just did.”

She broke into a little stutter as she tried to wheel her way out of the subject, but I didn’t want to let it go. She had mentioned it. She couldn’t just let it go now.

“Look, it’s not like it’s a big deal, right?” she explained. “So he likes feet… so what?”

“Right,” I answered. “Exactly.” Truth was, I didn’t know whether it was a big deal or not. I mean, I’ve seen some pretty extreme porn and heard some pretty outrageous stories that seemed to favor the opinion that fetishes can be pretty crazy. But I didn’t know firsthand. None of the guys I dated had ever had fetishes. At least, none that they employed with me.

“All done,” I told her. “And look, don’t you want to wear your heels?”

“Nope,” she smiled satisfied at me. “I very much like these.”

As she left the room, I turned to my closet to grab the outfit I had chosen for Jeremy. He would look so sharp in this leather jacket, blue plaid shirt, and jeans. Fuck, could he ever rock that rockabilly style…

Once I had finished getting ready, I slipped into a simple pair of ballet flats and headed to his room.

Seeing David greeting me at the door wasn’t exactly what I hoped for, but I figured it was at least for the best. Not that Jeremy wanted me anymore, but just in case I was tempted, at least there was a third party there to cock-block me.

When Jeremy came out of that bedroom in that outfit, I could have died. Why the fuck did I pick this outfit for him? Was I trying to give myself a heart attack?

“Hair time,” I announced as he sat in his seat in front of me.

This hotel, a very modern, comfortable new hotel, had the most amazing built-in vanity station in the suites, like the one Jeremy was renting. Plush white benches curved around the length of the bathroom, lighted mirrors hanging on the sides, white arched walls a mile high illuminating everything perfectly. He looked so angelic under the lights. I was afraid they only highlighted my flaws.

“Jeremy, did you need me to call for reservations?”

He looked over at David. “Yeah, go ahead. Try for ten o’ clock.”

We could hear David walking out, and as the door closed behind him, my mind – my filthy, conniving mind – came up with an idea to tease Jeremy. And also to find out the truth about his supposed fetish.

Because I loved Scarlett, and she loved me, but she wasn’t above a prank like this.

“I know it might be weird,” I spoke. “But my feet are killing me. Mind if I kick my shoes off?”

He began to straighten his collar as I turned away to remove my shoes. I could feel his eyes as they watched me, but without looking at him I couldn’t tell if it was my cleavage as I bent over that he was staring at, or if he was truly looking at my feet. At this point, I still wasn’t sure.

Barefoot, I stood before him and continued to work my comb through his hair. “Hey, I didn’t do half-bad on your haircut, did I?”

“You’re just now noticing?”

I looked into his eyes. “Guess I was too busy looking at other things.”

His eyes turned into just the slightest squint as I continued, but he didn’t say a word.

“Can I ask your opinion on something?” I asked him, backing away.

He nodded, still not speaking.

“I was thinking of going out for a pedicure today,” I told him. “What color do you think I should get?”

I propped one foot on his thigh as he sat there before me. He didn’t take his eyes off of mine for several seconds. Maybe he was wondering if I knew about his fixation. Maybe he was wondering how. Maybe he wasn’t interested at all in feet. Maybe he just thought I was being foolish.

Finally his eyes fell to my foot as it sat on his leg. “Um, w-well…” he stuttered. “You’re the stylist. You decide.”

“What do you think of red?” I asked. I edged my foot ever so slightly toward his crotch, but still kept it at a safe distance. “Too cliché?”

“Red’s good,” he almost whispered as he stared at my foot. “Red’s nice.”

“Or maybe something more interesting, like gold?”

As my foot continued to slide up his leg, I could see it now. Finally, there was proof in my mind.

“Or should I just keep it… natural?”

His hand grabbed my foot, stopping it as it had just about touched his fly. He held it there, not moving it back. His eyes shot back up to mine.

“What are you doing?”

I worried, pulled my foot back to the floor, and concentrated on saving face. “Just asking your opinion, that’s all,” I told him, slipping my foot back into my shoe.

“I have to leave here in ten fucking minutes and you pull this shit on me now?”

His words were angry, but his tone was not. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you get the wrong impression or something?”

“Did I get the wrong impression?” he laughed. “No. No. Don’t you dare turn this around on me.”

“What did I do?”

“You come in here looking like this, and you’re sliding your foot up my leg, and you tell me I’m getting the wrong impression?”

“Oh, did you like that?”

“Of course I liked that!” he yelled. “How the fuck am I supposed to not like that?”

His words electrocuted me. He liked it. He wanted it. He wanted me.

“Tell your boy to cancel those reservations,” I whispered, pulling him close to me as I bent over him. “Meet me at my room tonight at midnight.”

Without another word, I turned and left. I wondered once I’d walked out whether or not I had done the right thing. I wondered if seducing him was really the smartest thing right now, but I had done it, and I knew there was no turning back.

I watched as the hands of the old-fashioned clock on my bedroom wall began to tick and tock, every sound matching the beat of my heart as I waited for the knock on my door. As midnight approached, as the secondhand crossed the 12, as I sat there in a sheer red bra and matching panties, for some reason I expected him to be there right on the dot.

He wasn’t.

And he wasn’t there for the next forty-five minutes, either.

Finally the knock I had been waiting for echoed through my room. An hour ago, the sound would have made me wetter than a gangster’s grave. Now, it made me glad I’d blown out the candles, emptied the champagne down the sink, and changed into my sweatpants.

“Are you mad?” he asked when I answered.

“Mad?” I replied. “No. No, I just feel really, really bad about myself, that’s all.”

“Bad about yourself? Nah, come on, baby.”

“You’re very drunk, aren’t you?”

“I’m a little drunk,” he said. But by the way he staggered into the room, fell over into the bed, and slurred his speech, not to mention the shit-eating grin he constantly wore and the obvious smell of jack and coke, told me that he was more than just a little drunk.

I tried not to be mad. We weren’t dating, and he didn’t owe me the night alone. In fact, truth be told, I never even gave him a chance to respond to my invitation. I just sort of assumed he’d show.

I guess I thought he found me irresistible.

Silly me.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, shaking his head as he laid face-up in my bed.

“Don’t call me baby. I’m not your baby.”

“What should I call you?”

“I have a name,” a said sternly, sitting next to him. “Go to your room and go to sleep.”  
“No, come on,” he pleaded with me, trying to sit up. “I don’t want you to feel this way. How can I make it up to you?”

“Just go to bed,” I said. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

He finally managed to sit up, sort of, and looped his arms around my waist, snuggling me. Maybe smothering me, almost.

“Jeremy…”

“Come on, come on,” he whispered. “Let me stay.”

I wondered how bad an idea it would be to let him stay. I wondered if maybe he could have a conversation in his condition. I wondered what he wanted from me. I wondered why I still cared.

“Where were you?”

“There was a little thingy for the guests of the show,” he said. “I couldn’t get out of it.”

“Did you go to your reservation?”

“I told you I was stuck at the show,” he said. “I came here right after. You think I wanted to miss this?”

I allowed myself to smile only because I knew he couldn’t see it.

“I missed you. I kept wishing you were there.”

“You had Scarlett,” I told him. “You didn’t need me.”

“Ah, she knows too many people. They all wanted to talk to her, and no one cared about me. I mean, they cared, but you know, they cared about her more.”

“Well, you say you wanted me there, but I would have just ended up being a pain in everyone’s ass.”

“I would have loved for you to be a pain in my ass,” he said, now moving so his head was in my lap. “I really wanted you there.”

I looked down at him and brushed his hair with my fingers. “I really wanted you here,” I replied.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“It’s okay,” I whispered back.

I should have made him leave, but as his eyes closed, I found myself speechless under the spell of the gray hue that was fading now behind heavy lids and lashes. He was sound asleep in only minutes, and I slipped out from under him, walking around to the other side of the bed and throwing a blanket over him. I lay next to him, removed the shoes from the feet that were now next to my head, and I just watched him. His mouth was just the slightest bit open, and I could just see that he would be drooling soon. The growls emanating from him were humorous at first, but ultimately annoying. Still, I had been drunk in other peoples’ beds before, so I couldn’t get too upset with him.

Finally I had him in a place where I could say anything I wanted without him answering back. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, but I chose to just say quiet.

Knowing me, I would end up saying them all eventually anyway, and probably at very inappropriate times.

He was still there in the morning, sleeping straight through the alarm and everything. I tried waking him, but he didn’t budge, and for a moment, I wondered if he was dead.

Not sure why…

Anyway, he had a pulse, as it turned out, and since I couldn’t wake him up, I continued with my morning.

I showered and all that good stuff, grabbed the outfits I’d chosen for them the evening before, and left to Scarlett’s room.

Scarlett.

What was I going to tell her?

She looked amazing with brown hair. I mean… just… wow. It was only temporary for a movie she was about to film once we arrived back in the states, but I was completely shocked that she had the ability to be even more beautiful than she already was.

“You’re rocking that hair, chick,” I said, handing her the tuxedo pants and cream floral blouse. “I feel like I could have picked something better to go with it.”

“Oh, I hate the hair,” she told me, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure this outfit is great.”

She saw it. I don’t know what I did to give it away, but she saw it.

“Something’s up with you today,” she said, starting to change even though I was right there in the room with her.

“Jeremy’s in my room,” I said. “He slept with me last night.”

“You guys did it again?” she asked. “Oh, Lana, you gotta be strong enough for this. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“No, we didn’t have sex, we just slept together. Like, literally just slept. He was drunk.”

“Couldn’t get it up, huh?”

“No, it’s not that,” I explained. “He was supposed to come over and do it with me, but he was late and drunk and he just fell asleep. But we talked a little. It was nice.”

She slipped into her heels and sat at her vanity, and I stood in back of her, styling her hair. “Lana, if you really are in love with him, sex isn’t gonna make it any easier for you.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that you were talking about his foot fetish, and so I got curious, and then I started flirting, and then I invited him over and blah, blah, blah.”

“Yeah, well, it’s all that stuff that could have happened during the blah, blah, blah that could have made it worse. It’s fun now, babe, but you subject yourself to much more of that, and you’re gonna regret it.”

She was right. She was so fucking right.

“So why don’t you just go for it?” I asked her. “You said you were thinking about it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jeremy.”

She looked at me in the mirror. “I thought about it, but then I decided double-dipping wasn’t a great idea. I tried it once, and it didn’t work. Trying it again would be stupid. Besides, who needs men?”

There. That’s the Scarlett I knew.

“So we can agree on one thing: Neither of us is going to fool around with Jeremy.”

As she said those words, I smiled. I tried not to. Oh god, I really didn’t want her to look at me, but she did.

“Lana, I’m serious! It’s for your own good!”

“It’s not just that I love him,” I told her. “The sex was incredible.”

“Really? I didn’t think so,” she told me.

I looked at her, puzzled, wondering how anyone could think he wasn’t good in bed.

I guess that was something I had with him that Scarlett didn’t. Really fucking amazing, mind-blowing sex.

“All done,” I told her as I stepped back from her loose curls I had arranged just perfectly. “Knock ‘em dead, kid.”

I headed back to my room. I didn’t have to dress Jeremy for a while yet, as his first interview wasn’t for another three hours. He was still lying in my bed in his jeans and shirt from the day before, having removed his jacket at some point during the night and thrown it on the floor. I looked at the way he laid there on his stomach with one hand beneath his head and the other over the side of the bed. He seemed so peaceful like this; far more peaceful than I had ever seen him, and I looked into the pocket of his jacket for his phone. Sure enough, David had called several times looking for him. I knew he must be going crazy, so I sent him a text that Jeremy was with me. I expected him to show up immediately, but to my surprise, he said he’d be by in an hour.

A whole hour.

If he had woken up just then to see me, my hands clenched together in front of my chest, my feet directly beside each other, my eyes widened as I looked at him, he would have probably freaked the hell out and bolted from that room faster than I could say “Hi, my name is Creepy.”

Good thing he was sleeping.

After a few minutes, I crawled back in bed beside him. He was so warm, and I laid beside him, nestling beside him, tucking my arms underneath me and lying on my stomach as he was.

“Hey,” I whispered softly. “Wake up.”

He didn’t respond, but after the third time I said it, his head moved to face me.

“Hey, you,” I whispered.

His eyes opened slowly, so heavy they were, and he looked right at me.

“Good morning, Starshine,” I smiled. “Coffee?”

“First chop my head off,” he groaned. “Just… kill me now.”

“You gonna be okay today?” I asked. “David’s gonna be here in… let’s see… a half hour or so. “Wanna take a shower and get ready?”

He nodded. I smiled back. “I’ll go grab you some coffee,” I told him. “You wanna shower here or your room?”

“Here,” he said. “Might as well.”

“Need me to grab anything from your room?”

“Nah, you’ve got soap here. That’s good enough.”

“So simple,” I said. “Proud of you.”

I sat up and stood, slipping into my shoes and heading for the door. As I began to leave, he called out to me, and I turned toward him.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” I answered. “Be right back.”

It took about twenty minutes for me to retrieve the coffee and return, and he was tying his tie as I entered, looking as fresh as if he’d never had a drop to drink in his life.

“Wow,” I greeted him. “Fancy!”

I handed him the coffee, and his hand held mine as I handed it over. “I’m gonna make it up to you,” he told me. “I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It was nice just waking up next to you this morning. Even if I woke up to your feet next to my head instead of that pretty face.”

I reached up and fastened his top button, and he reached up to my blouse and did the same to me, mocking me playfully.

“Cut it out!” I laughed.

“You cut it out,” he said back.

I laughed into his eyes, his eyes smiled back, and I remembered, just as I remembered every time our eyes met, just why I loved him.

The knock at the door shook me back into reality, and when David stepped in with an anti-hangover potion and a very bready breakfast, I knew our moment was over.

David ran through the day’s schedule, and I could swear Jeremy looked at me more than he looked at anything else during this time. Call me crazy, but I started to think maybe he felt something for me. Something more than just friendship. Something more than just lust. Something deep. Something that meant something.

But then, I’ve taken his signals the wrong way before. Need I remind you of the kiss-on-chin incident?

“You did a hell of a job making him look like a gentleman,” David told me as I put the finishing touches on Jeremy’s hair.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” Jeremy chuckled. “I’d be lost without this woman.”

“Oh, shut up,” I teased, slapping him lightly over the head.

“Oh, come on, Lana,” Jeremy laughed back. “You know I love you.”


	13. Crying

I love you.

Was I reading too far into that?

Yes. Absolutely.

Still he had said those words, and one way or another, he meant them. This wasn’t the kind of guy who said things just for the sake of hearing himself talk. Yeah, it’s one thing to say “I love my stylist – she’s the best.”

Saying “I love you” to a woman you’ve slept with is a risk. A risk I just know he was aware of.

I always overthink things though.

Our last stop before America was Australia. Bobbi warned me at the beginning of the trip that Australia would be hectic. The reason for this was not only that we would be there an entire week, but also that it was sort of a “party central” for everyone in our troupe. The whole week, only two televised interviews would be done, two more radio interviews (I wouldn’t have to work for these) and viewing parties every night.

Every. Fucking. Night.

Dressing them for a party was fun when it was once in a while. It was nice to put Jeremy in a suit and put Scarlett in a fun, sexy dress, and watch them go off and mingle and sleep in the next day, which meant we got to sleep in. But when they had parties every night for a week, this meant a week of borrowed clothes they were being paid to wear – clothes we had to pick up and have cleaned and return on a very tight schedule. This meant bodyguards watching us dress our clients in multi-millions of dollars in loaned jewelry and watches. This meant never sleeping. Becoming violently ill from the pressure and stress. Hearing complaints from all the designers we couldn’t find an occasion for.

I’d done this three times before for some other stars I won’t bother naming. It had never gone well. And I had never had to do it in the midst of a world-wide press tour. This was a horse of another color, and as our plane landed in the beautiful city of Sydney, I couldn’t even focus on the colors of the nature all around us. I only thought of deadlines.

Deadlines.

Fucking deadlines.

There was no time to waste as we arrived at the hotel. Immediately, I was out at shops by local designers who paid probably half their life’s savings getting Jeremy and Scarlett and Reggie to wear their designs. It seemed like they all had special instructions.

“Don’t let her wear this on television. The colors won’t show well on camera.”

“He has to wear this tie with this suit. Make sure it is this tie. If it’s not this tie, the suit won’t work.”

“She should wear heels no taller than three inches with this or else the seam will look uneven.”

I’m only one person, people!

Bobbi and I worked together coordinating outfits for the group until well past 2 in the morning. We had to lay everything out for the week, keeping in mind that they all had to wear coordinating colors and patterns for photos, and keeping in mind that competing designers’ clothing could not be worn by any of them while they were in the same place. People who say this job is just like playing dress-up and running gel through people’s hair… they’re seriously fucking mistaken.

The knock we heard surprised both of us. The hotel we rented was so tiny that we’d had to rent the entire floor, and no one was on either side of us to complain about us being up late into the night talking.

“Should I answer?” Bobbi asked.

“No, it’s my room, I should answer,” I told her. With no peephole on this door, I worried a little. It was nearly three now, and we were in a strange hotel in a strange city. Who knows what was there?

“Who is it?” I called.

With no verbal answer, I simply heard another knock, and it worried me more.

“Look, I’m not gonna open the door unless you tell me who it is,” I called.

“It’s me.”

It was only a whisper, but such a hoarse, gravely whisper, that I would have known it anywhere. I opened the door just a crack to see Jeremy standing there in shorts and a t-shirt, and I stepped out into the hall to talk to him.

“I was really hoping I could come in,” he said, still whispering.

“I’m up with Bobbi,” I told him. “We’re working.”

“Oh,” he said. “Ok, well…. When can I come back?”

I looked at my watch. “Try… a week from now.”

“Why?”

“Jeremy, I am so tired. I have been sorting clothes and drawing up schedules and planning ever since we got here twelve hours ago. I have to be awake in five hours to get you guys ready, and I have at least another hour of work ahead of me, and that’s only if I’m lucky.”

I felt sort of badly when I was so stern with him, but then again, I knew I needed to be.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and even in his whisper he sounded sad.

“I’ll see you in a few hours. You should be sleeping anyway.”

He pursed his lips, smiling with his eyes so wonderfully, and reached an arm out to touch mine ever so gently. “Night, Lana.”

“Hold on,” I said as he walked away.

“What?”

“Come here,” I whispered.

He came closer, his mouth curled into a smile, and I pressed my lips on his. Then again. Then another time because it was just so damn good.

“You come here,” he smiled. He grabbed me now into both of his arms, lifting me a few inches off the floor, and kissed me like we’d been at it forever. I couldn’t help but react the only way I knew how in a kiss like this. I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. He pressed me against the wall, though not roughly, and he kept me there for a moment, kissing me softly until finally I pulled back, holding my hands on either side of his face.

“Where’d that come from?” I asked.

“I really wanted you tonight,” he smiled back at me. “And now you got me all excited and you’re gonna just waltz back into that room like it’s nothing.”

“I can feel your excitement,” I laughed, still trying to keep quiet. “I can feel it on my leg right now!”

He set me back down so that my feet were on the floor, and he grabbed my hands in his. “One more kiss?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. “Let me do you one better,” I smiled. I poked my head back in the room. “Hey Bobbi, I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna run and get some coffee.”

“Sounds good,” she answered. “Bring me one, will you? Black.”

“Will do,” I called back. Then stepping out of the room, I grabbed Jeremy’s hand and led him to the elevator.

We stepped inside, and the doors hadn’t even closed before I slipped my hand down his shorts.

“Whoa!” he yelled. “What’re ya doing?”

“You got a problem with it?” I asked.

His crooked smile beamed back at me. “Nah-uh,” he shook his head.

I pulled his dick from his shorts, and immediately I fell to my knees in front of him.

“You don’t have to…”

I didn’t let him finish his sentence. Besides, I wanted to do this.

His impressive boner he’d sported a few minutes ago had started to wear off, but once I had him in my mouth, it returned, slowly but surely. Feeling the blood rush to his crotch, the thought of him being turned on by me, even as I knelt in front of him in flannel shorts and a white tank top, it gave me feelings I only wish I could explain. His eyes stayed on me constantly, either looking into my eyes as I looked into his or looking down my shirt. A few times, he reached a hand down to touch my tits, but I slapped his hand away lightly, teasing him. We’d moved a couple of floors before he remembered to pull the emergency lever, and we knew we only had a few minutes before someone would need to use the elevator. A few minutes to finish up before we were caught.

“Let me see your tits,” he begged between breaths.  
I pulled my tank top up over my breasts briefly, giving him a peek. But then I pulled it back down and continued sucking on him, savoring the taste he left in my mouth.

I ran my hands from his ankles up his calves, finally massaging his thighs under the legs of his shorts. As he became rock-hard in my mouth now, he leaned his head back and took a deep breath, apparently trying to control himself. He was trying to last longer, enjoy this longer, enjoy me longer.

I shoved his cock deep into my mouth now, so deep that it hit the back of my throat and I almost gagged on it. One of my hands strayed up to his balls, caressing them softly, pulling at them ever so lightly. Then I grabbed his shaft in my hand and took a turn running my tongue up the inside of one thigh, then the other, before ultimately tasting his balls, taking them into my mouth.

I could see he didn’t expect this. Was he not used to women paying attention to every bit of him? He should know better with me. He should know I wanted to worship every fucking inch of his body.

His hand grabbed the back of my head just as I hoped he would. This was how I imagined it in my dreams, and now that it was actually happening, I found it to be every bit as pleasant as I had imagined. More so, even.

“Almost there, baby,” he whispered. “Oh, god, you’re so fuckin’ good.”

I took him into my mouth once more, now bracing myself by gripping his legs with my hands. I licked him slowly, long, deliberate licks on his dick like I was eating an ice cream cone.   
“Don’t tease me anymore, Lana,” he whispered. “Please, just keep sucking me. It’s so good.”

I obeyed, sucking on him hard and fast now, allowing him to guide the movements and speed even though I was perfectly capable of doing this myself. But having him there to tell me how he liked it made it even better, and when I noticed his breathing becoming more rapid, seeing the way his face had become as his pace quickened, I recognized that he was about to cum. He looked down at me, his eyes wide, and before he could ask, I answered.

“Let me taste it.”

His pulsating movements quickened even more, and finally I felt the warm sensation in the back of my throat. I could feel him coming in my mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head, closed behind his tightly-shut eyelids, gritting his teeth, leaning forward just slightly as he almost lost control right there in front of me. I didn’t want to spit it out, so I swallowed every drop, and once I knew he was done, once his movements stopped completely and his eyes opened once more, I released him.

I stood and pressed the emergency button, then pressed the button for our floor. I stood beside him, leaning against the wall as he pulled his shorts back up.

We walked back onto our floor, relieved to see that no one had caught any of what we were doing, and he walked with me to my door.

“Mind if I get back to work now?” I asked.

He didn’t speak, simply pulling me close once more and kissing me again. “I love – ”

“I love you, too!” I almost yelled. I felt bad interrupting him, but I had just waited so long to say it, to finally tell him those three words that I had kept inside me for those days since I first wanted to tell him. I had thought about saying it the day before just after he’d said it to me. But of course, I wasn’t sure he’d meant it then. I held his face again, kissing him. Kissing him softly, sweetly, gently, tenderly, lovingly over and over and over for minutes until I knew I needed to go back into my room.

“I-I was gonna say I love kissing you,” he said. “I love kissing you, Lana.”

Shit.

“I love kissing you, too,” I said. “That’s what I said.”

“N-no, you said, you said you l-loved me.”

“What? No! That’s cray-cray!”

“Cray-cray?”

I shook my head, half in disbelief and half in playing my role as the girl who’d simply been misunderstood.

“Crazy,” I whispered.

“It’s not crazy,” he said. “I heard what you said, and I know you said it.”

“I didn’t mean it,” I whispered. “It’s been a long night, and I’m just tired.”

“Lana, this means a lot to me. I promise it does. But I’m just not there yet.”

I shrugged. “I know. Neither am I.”

He looked into my eyes with concern.

“Stop looking at me like that!” I laughed.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine!” I laughed some more. He must have seen that I was forcing it now.

“Ok, I’ll take your word for it. Good night, Lana.”

“Good night, Jeremy.”

I didn’t notice I was crying until he reached to wipe a tear from my eye. Then he turned and left, and I watched as he reached the end of the hall and entered his suite.

I stepped back into my room, where Bobbi now had every single article of clothing all over every single piece of furniture.

Now I had two reasons why I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.

“Hey, where’s the coffee?” She asked.

“I’m going through a bit of a crisis here, Bobbi,” I told her. “A minute please?”

“Crisis? Sounds like a situation that coffee would make a whole lot better.”

She didn’t care. But then again, why would she?

No, I didn’t sleep. I guess I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

I rushed to Scarlett’s room around 8, gray dress and pink heels in hand. She answered with her usual smile and hug, asking how my morning had been, looking like she’d had enough sleep. And for her sake, I was glad.

She seemed so oblivious to my condition. I really thought she’d be able to see it, but she didn’t. The way I felt, I figured everyone would see it.

“Can you give me bangs?” she asked as she sat for me to do her hair.

“You want me to… cut it?”

“Just the bangs,” she answered. “I thought it might make me look… Lana! Babe, what’s wrong?”

I was crying again. “Nothing,” I whimpered.

“Oh, shut up with your nothing,” she yelled at me. “Talk to me, kid.”

“I’m fine, I just… I just… I need to go to the bathroom!”

I ran to the bathroom, and I stayed there for a very long time. She must have thought I was sick. And I guess in a way, I was.

“Babe, you gotta come out of there,” she called through the door. “Seriously. Come on.”

I finally managed to open the door. “You’re out of tampons!” I cried.

“You need tampons? I’ll get you tampons, okay? Just sit down and relax.”

Yeah, I needed tampons, but that wasn’t the point. “I’m dying!” I cried.

“Ok, well, you’re not dying,” she said in a soothing voice as she fumbled for her key. “Let me just run and get you some tampons, okay?”

“I told him I love him,” I wailed.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “One crisis at a time, kid,” she said. “You wanna talk about this or you want me to run out for tampons?”

“This,” I said in a whisper, patting the space beside me on the couch.

She sat there, rubbing my back gently as she faced me. “When did you tell him?” she asked.

I told her all about the night before. I told her about the all-nighter I was still on, the blow job in the elevator, the declaration of my love to Jeremy. I told her everything.

“Ok, you clearly need to just have a moment to yourself,” she sighed. “Don’t even worry about my hair. Get Jeremy over with and then go back to your room to sleep for a few hours.”

I have appointments until six,” I told her. “Then I have to get you guys ready for the party by eight.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

“Just Jeremy, then? And how do I face him?”

She smoothed out the slight wrinkles in my sleeve. “With a smile and a spring in your step,” she answered. “As they used to say in the old days, keep a stiff upper lip.”

I fell against her, but only for a few seconds since I had to get over to Jeremy. “What’s your opinion of us?” I asked her. “Is it just the stupidest thing?”

“I’ve seen stupider,” she chuckled. “But you want to know the truth?”

“That would be preferred,” I said.

“I think you’re exactly what he needs right now. I just don’t think he knows it.”


	14. The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana visits Jeremy's home-in-progress.

That week, a week of running around, hustle and bustle galore, getting yelled at by designers and jewelers, being accused, not once, but three times of stealing from various companies did in fact have one advantage.

It was over quickly.

Days like those are the days I wanted to quit. Bobbi wasn’t kidding when she talked about what hell it would be. No, I think weeks like that go to hell for vacation.

I couldn’t decide whether taking a week off of Jeremy was good or bad. We stayed on good terms throughout the week of course, but we also managed to control ourselves. Maybe that had to do with how busy I was. Maybe it was the fact that I literally did not have one second alone with him.

Scarlett, on the other hand, was free as a bird every morning. Evenings were a different story, though, as she was absolutely plagued with reporters, designers, directors, aspiring actors, and miscellaneous rich guys looking for a hookup. But she handled it all with grace, and to be honest, I think it was good for her.

The morning we were set to fly back to America, she even visited me in my room. I mean, we were on great terms, but she wasn’t exactly the stopping-by type. Not without a damn good reason, anyway.

“Ready to get back home?” she asked.

She sat on my bed as I packed. “Ready for America, for sure,” I answered. “Home is a different story.”

“Oh, come on,” she smiled. “Everyone wants to be home.”

“I am, I suppose,” I told her. “It’s just that…. It’s…. oh, never mind.”

“Never mind?” she asked. “No, you can’t just say never mind and move on. Explain.”

I watched as she refolded several items of my clothing. She stuffed rolled-up socks into my shoes and turned the collars up. Damn lefties and their perfectionism.

“I’m gonna be kind of bored without you guys,” I said.

“Without us, or without him?”

“Both of you,” I smiled at her. “Obviously.”

“Well I know I’ll miss you, too. You know, George is coming back to work for me when we get to L.A.”

An instant pain hit my chest as I heard this. I could tell by the stagger in her voice that she knew it would be hard for me. Hell, I think it hurt her a little, too.

“Is that why you’re being extra nice today?” I asked. “Because this is our last day of working together?”  
“It’s not our last day,” she said. “You’ll still have to coordinate with me. You’ll be consulting. I would have kept you on, only I know he needs the work more than ever, what with all the medical bills they’ve got now. You understand, right?”

I knew this day was going to come, but I wasn’t exactly ready for it. I nodded, because speaking would have told her I was crying as my back was turned to her.

“Hey, so, about Jeremy…”

I sniffled inconspicuously, at least I hoped so, and turned to face her. “What _about_ Jeremy?”

“What’s going on? Is he… I mean, are you guys…”

I laughed, maybe a little too hard. “Him and me? Ha!”

“So, no?”

“No,” I answered. “Definitely not.”

“It didn’t seem like such a ridiculous question a week ago when you were telling me you loved him.”

“Yeah, I was sleep-deprived,” I replied. “I think I was just emotional or something. Didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Though I did, in fact, know _exactly_ what I was talking about.

She scooted over closer to me on the bed, pulling at my shirt until I took the hint and sat beside her. “Let me level with ya, kid,” she whispered, though I have no idea why. “There are some things you need to know about Mr. Renner.”

I raised an eyebrow in suspense, anticipating the voice of experience and all it had to tell me.

“He’s not the settling-down type,” she said. “He’s not exactly a domestic breed.”

“Who says I’m looking to settle down?” I asked. “I’m only 30.”

“You know what tells me you want to settle down?” she asked.

I waited silently a moment before she answered.

“You do,” she said finally. “You look at him like he’s the last man on earth and your only hope for the survival of the human race.”

“Is that a kind of look?” I asked.

She laughed a little, but continued to hold me close, passing down her wisdom.

“He was in love with me,” she said. “People don’t really know how it was, but that’s it. I didn’t feel the same way, and when we parted ways, he said he’d never love anyone as much as me, and that he could never imagine himself with anyone else.”

As she spoke, I don’t think she realized what she was doing. That is, tearing my heart into tiny pieces and allowing them to rot in the sun.

“I’m well aware of how much he loved you,” I told her. “Believe me.”

“Well, he’s over it now.”

“Is he?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

She cocked her head to the side, pulling me in for an embrace. “I am so sure. And even if he’s not, I am.”

“But it doesn’t matter if you are,” I said. “I mean, I’m glad you are, but if he isn’t, that’s what’s gonna kill me.”

“It was over five years ago, honey. He’s over it. I just know he is.”

I looked down at the floor, my heart as heavy as my eyelids now as I needed sleep so badly I could have died. “I don’t want him to marry me or anything,” I started. “I just want…”

After my words had halted for several seconds, she hugged me closely to her side. “Want what?” she asked.

“I want him to look at me the way he looks at you.”

Finally I think it started to hit her how much the subject of the two of them hurt me. I couldn’t be mad, though. I mean, it’s not like she did it on purpose. She just had a past with him and felt she should pass down her knowledge from that experience. And maybe I would have thought it was all just in my head if every other damn person I’d worked with on this trip had seen it in them, too.

“I don’t think he looks at me any special way,” she said. “I think we look at each other the way any two friends do. And besides, how much can you tell from a look?”

I remembered the look he gave me outside my hotel room that night we first had sex. I remembered the look he gave me when I knew he was about to tell me that what we had was just for fun. I remembered every look he’d ever given me, even before we knew each other very well, and how it always revealed how he was feeling or what he was thinking. His face was so animated, so capable of framing every imaginable emotion, that it would be kind of hard not to be able to see what he was thinking when he looked a certain way.

Yes, he gave her a special look. And we could see everything he felt when he looked at her that way.

“People change, too,” she told me. “Just because he used to feel that way doesn’t mean he always will.”

I nodded, feeling that if I spoke, I would say something angry. And why be angry with her? Everyone loved her. It’s not her fault, nor Jeremy’s, that he fell for her.

\---

It amazed me just how deep blue the Pacific Ocean is when you’re right in the heart of it. It’s so blue, blue like the sky at twilight or the color of my mother’s freshly waxed Thunderbird convertible.

It’s blue like the jeans I dressed him in. Blue like his eyes when he wants to say something he knows you don’t want to hear.

LAX had been a fun experience when I was a kid on vacation hunting down autographs. Now, though, working in this city with several A-listers and aware of how tight the schedules become at the end of a press tour like this, it’s annoying. We’d been spoiled by the paparazzi of other countries, countries that had made it illegal to be followed around and have your picture taken anywhere and at any time. I was so thankful I only had to watch this happen and not actually be an object for them myself.

I think it was when they started shoving cameras up Scarlett’s skirt that I really lost it. They didn’t know me, and I took advantage of that.

Let’s just say there are three very angry paparazzos in Los Angeles who will be spending a little less time invading other people’s privacy and more time shopping for new cameras.

It’s not my fault I was carrying three very large bags through the airport, and it’s not my fault that those bags may or may not have roughly knocked a few cameras out of a few hands. That’s all I’m saying.

I’d worked in L.A. a lot; in fact it was probably where I’d done a majority of my work. But I’d never felt such a beautiful autumn breeze here as I did that day. As the cab dropped me at the hotel, I didn’t even want to go inside. And I’m not an outdoor person. Not even a little.

“Gorgeous outside,” I said to Jeremy casually as I dropped off his wardrobe.

He smiled slightly at me, and hung a few hangers in the closet. “Gorgeous inside, too,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” I smirked. “Thanks to air conditioning.”

“I wasn’t talking about the temperature,” he said.

For a moment, I fell under the spell of his charm, and I think that’s exactly what he was hoping to do. “Cheesy,” I laughed finally. “But cute.”

“You know, we have a free schedule today. Wanna hang out with me for a while?”

“What, here? What could we possibly do here today?”

He gave me that look.

“Other than that,” I smirked.

“Actually,” he answered. “I’m going to a house today. You wanna come with?”

“A house? What house? Like a friend’s or something?”

“No,” he answered. “One of mine. Just bought it.”

Must be nice.

“I guess if you want me to,” I said. “I have nothing else to do now that I don’t work for Scarlett anymore.”

“I’m pretty much just sleeping here,” he told. “I have to go home at some point or I’ll go crazy.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “I mean, I may not have the best living situation, but I miss home. I miss sleeping in my own bed and showering in my own shower and I miss poor water pressure and my stinky garbage disposal and Bartholomew.”

“Bartholomew?” he echoed. “That a… a boyfriend?”

I laughed. “In a manner of speaking,” I answered. “But more realistically, he’s my cat.”

“Oh, crazy cat lady, huh?”

“No, nothing like that. He was my gramma’s, but then she got too sick to take care of him, and I couldn’t bear to see him put down, so I took him in.”

“I’m a dog person myself,” he said as we stepped out of the closet finally.

“I know.”

Yet another reason we were doomed for failure.

“You can meet them if you want,” he said. “My dogs I mean. They’re really sweet. You should see their little faces when I come home after being away for a while.”

It was like he was talking about his kids, and that got me thinking about him as a father, and that got my insides to do all kinds of twisty things.

“We’ll see,” I said. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No bother,” he said. “I want you to come hang out with me.”

“Ok,” I smiled. “I’d like that. What time?”

“Um, well, what are you doing right now?”

“Now? I, uh…” I tried to think, but nothing came to mind. “Nothing.”

“Let’s go then,” he said. He grabbed his keys from the bedside table and headed out the door. “Come on.”

He took me by the hand and walked me to the car that way. No photographers, no bystanders, it was like it was just us, and we were the only people in the entire world.

\---

“Holy crap,” I exclaimed as I walked in the French doors of the old colonial-style home.

He laughed a little. “Holy crap? That’s all you have to say?”

“Um, this place is… just… I love it. I am actually in love with it. I want to have sex with this house.”

“You see why I had to have her, then,” he smiled. “She’s only about fifty years old, but she was built to look older. Built-ins, hiding spaces, winding staircase…”

“French doors, bay windows in every room,” I continued for him. “It’s just… Oh god, it’s perfect.”

“It’ll be up for sale in a few months if you’re interested,” he said with a wink. He knew I couldn’t afford it, but he must have enjoyed the way I loved it. Just to think about myself living here, it was like a dream.

Like the kind of dream I always wanted to have about him and me and our kids and our cat and our dogs.

“So, yeah, everything essential is taken care of,” he continued. “Just need to do the more cosmetic stuff. You know, the moldings and the paint and the tile and the kitchen backsplash. What do you think, subway tile or stainless steel?”

“Subway tile,” I answered. “No doubt about it. White, though, and maybe the kind that looks aged. I think it would make this space absolutely charming.”

“I was leaning toward that, too. And then of course, hardwood throughout. Something dark. Probably mahogany.”

I just smiled as I surveyed the space, traveling from room to room. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for it now,” I said. “And I’ll do the renovations myself.”

He laughed lightly as he approached me. “Yeah, I was half-tempted to keep it for myself, but I know I’ll just find another place soon and then another after that, and I’ll never have time to actually live here and enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I heard you did this kind of thing on the side. Sounds fun.”

“It is.”

“I’d fall in love with every house, though,” I told him. “That’s what I do. I just find something I like, and I can’t move on, you know? I get obsessed and I just fall in love. That’s just how I am. I fall in love and I stay in love and I don’t give up until I have to.”

Was I still talking about the house?

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s a beaut.” He grazed his hands along the wall where a bit of the old wallpaper still lay. “You have to handle her with care, you know? You have to give her all the attention she deserves. Keep her happy, keep her in style, boast about her, make her stand out so that all the others don’t compare.”

Was _he_ still talking about the house?

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Yeah, she’s… she’s a cutie.”

“Hey, um,” he started as he walked even closer to me, his hands settled nervously in his pockets and his eyes unable to find a place to rest. “You know, I wanted to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to tell you that… that, um… that I really do think you’re special, you know. You really are. You’re not just anyone to me. I like you.”

“I like you, too,” I said.

“And, I know we only have a couple weeks left together, but I’d really just like to thank you.”

As I heard him speak, I couldn’t help but smile. Then laugh. Then I just fell onto the boxes that were piled in the corner of the kitchen and I leaned my head back, laughing until I was almost crying.

“What?” He asked, his eyes painfully blue and his forehead creasing with more wrinkles every second.

“It’s just…” I started as my laugh became quieter. “It’s just… thank you,” I smiled. “You said thank you.”

“And I meant it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I know, and you’re welcome, I guess, but…”

“But what?”

I looked up at him as his face grew more pitiful, and I didn’t want him to think I was laughing at him. I wasn’t.

“I thought you were gonna ask me out or something,” I laughed a little still. “I just… it’s so typical of my stupid mind, and I’m not laughing at you. Really. I’m laughing at me because I’m an idiot.”

He knelt in front of me and took my hands in his. Never had I seen him this tender. Not with me. Not with anyone.

“I like you. A lot.” He said. “I just can’t ask someone for a commitment.”

“You can’t ask, because you can’t give one.”

He nodded, his mouth turning up a bit as he sat beside me. “You understand, though. That’s nice.”

“Of course I understand. I don’t need a commitment.”

I felt his hand suddenly in my hair, brushing through it, his head leaning over on my shoulder. “Want some dinner?” he asked. “We can order something, or…”

“No,” I answered. “I think I should head back. Early day tomorrow, and I’m still catching up on my sleep.”

“It’s only seven,” he said. “Come on, let’s grab some Chinese or something.”

“Um, no, I don’t think I can. Thanks, though.”

He grabbed his keys from his pocket and stood, then held my hands and helped me stand. “You’re not upset about – ”

“No, no,” I shook my head. “I’m just not hungry.”

“Yes you are, you haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m not, really.”

“Come on, Lana,” he said as he held my wrist. “Just stay a little longer.”

“No!” I said firmly.

Immediately he let go of me, and he backed away as I stood near the door. I didn’t mean to be so harsh, but then I didn’t know I felt as strongly about leaving as I did. But as I stood there, as I looked into his eyes and saw the expression they held, that of sorrow and yearning mixed with care and concern, I realized why I needed to leave. I couldn’t let myself become obsessed like I had always been with others in the past. I couldn’t stay and fall even more in love. I knew I could have loved him more, and I couldn’t let myself do that.

“Ok, well, let me drive you back then,” he said as he opened the door. But as it opened I touched his arm, that strong left arm made of veins and steel, and I laid my chin upon it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just can’t get hurt again.”

He held me just then, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. He wasn’t much taller than me, so it was a comfortable position for us both, and I let him hold me for as long as he would have me there, his body swaying just slightly every now and then.

Slowly, his mouth had found my ear, and he began to lay sweet, soft kisses on it. No, they weren’t the typically seductive kind, the sort of throbbing motions in my ear suggesting other things, but they were so gentle, I fell into him, my lips meeting the skin of his neck, my kisses trailing over his Adam’s apple as my hands traveled down his spine, landing on his butt, holding myself there because it was where I needed to be. Not just now, either. Always.

“You don’t have to…”

“Shush,” I whispered in response.

He obeyed, silently allowing my hands to move around until my palms rested on his chest. I looked up into his face, his smile gone, his eyes intent on mine, his lips so seductively wet as he licked his lips.

He had no idea what such an action did to me. How I felt it not only between my legs, but in my soul.

I could feel his breathing begin to labor, his chin now resting just above my nose as I wondered what to do next. I could have walked out just then, leaving with him those parting words and hoping he would maybe someday come around with a change of heart. But instead I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I don’t know, but somehow we were kissing, and it was incredible.

I had to close my eyes because I wanted to feel everything he offered on his lips. I held myself still against his chest, but his arms soon embraced me and I answered that same way. With us now holding each other, now thoroughly entranced, captured in the grip our lips held on each other, I knew there was no turning back. A couple of good impressions as I thought about our tangles in the past, and all I could do was fall into his arms and allow him to carry me off to an unknown destination.

I had noticed when we walked in that furniture was scarce, so I wondered where he was taking me. I couldn’t look, though, as my eyes were a bit preoccupied, and I assumed he was just taking me to another room with perhaps some padding on the floor. But suddenly I felt a cool granite surface on my back, and when I looked around just briefly, I discovered myself on the kitchen island.

He held his forehead to mine, his breathing almost uncontrollably fast. I felt that I was breathing heavily, too, but not like him. Was I that heavy that I wore him out? Surely he couldn’t be so passionate about me.

His fingers fell along the skin of my cheeks as he leaned in again, this time meeting my lips with his without the use of his tongue. These kisses were my favorite. Simply, sweet, soft. The kiss is the prelude to sex, and I wanted our sex to be as tender as he was being now. The way he had absolutely ravaged me in the past, I wondered if he could do it softly – if he could do anything softly. But he was beginning now to prove himself more than capable of that and so much more.

He climbed onto the island over me, and as I looked up at him on all fours, gravity stretching his lips down so that they were even more welcoming, if you can imagine, I reached my hands up to him and brought him down, continuing to close my eyes as I kissed him, and as I felt his body shake as he tried to steady himself on the narrow surface.

My hand had met the collar of his shirt, and I pulled it up, urging him to undress for me. He took the clue, and he used only one hand to rip it off over his head. Now I had him shirtless, tanned, toned. How? How does anyone look this perfect all the time?

His kisses fell on my neck, and then to my chest, then down my stomach as he lifted my shirt up and touched his mouth to my skin. I thought maybe I knew what he was doing, and it scared me a little. Why? Because that was always so intimate to me, something no one ever did with me unless we were in a commitment. Yet here I was with a man who was upfront and truthful that he could promise no commitment, and he was going down on me with not even a thought of hesitation, it seemed.

His feet found the floor again, and he had tugged my clothing off my waist. His kisses traced the lines of my barely visible hip bones, and as I watched him, he suddenly looked up to me.

I bit my lip and smiled.

“Hi,” he smiled back.

But I couldn’t answer, and he wouldn’t have heard me if I did, I guess. His mouth fell on me just then, his lips meeting every crease, his tongue trekking over the area, not missing a single spot. He kept looking at me, looking for signs that he was finding the right places, and when I threw my head back involuntarily, he knew he’d found it.

And I thought his tongue was magical when he _kissed_ me.

The things he was able to do with his mouth are things I never knew a man was capable of. Fuck my dreams – this was better. He sucked so very gently on my clit, then stopped as the excitement engulfed me. Then he would begin licking, slow strokes at first, then faster. He must have been down there for ten minutes working on me, looking up to me, reaching under my shirt to touch my breasts and appreciate my body as no one had before.

I pulled his hair, and when he looked up at me, I hinted that I wanted him on top of me immediately. Without hesitation, he mounted, pulled down his jeans, and fell onto me much more forcefully than I think he meant to. He looked at me with concern, and I responded with a smile so that he would know I didn’t mind. And when I felt him inside me finally, I met the orgasm that had been building up for some time.

I think I said his name, even.

It only took him another moment to finish, and his eyes clenched as he did, his body falling against me, my head leaning over the side of the counter as his thrusts became harder.

He pulled me back onto the island, his hand around the back of my neck, and he leaned in to kiss me.

Such a kiss.

He propped himself on his elbows on either side of me, looking at me, kissing me a couple more times briefly and then once more on the nose.

“What are you trying to do to me, Renner?” I asked.

He was smiling when he looked at me, but when he saw how serious I was, it faded. He stood slowly, pulling his clothes back on and handing me mine.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “No more, I promise.”

“No, I think we’ll keep doing it,” I said. “I like it. I just…”

As he pulled his shirt back on, he helped me off the surface. “What?”

“You should know that… I do love you, Jeremy. Really. And I know you can’t say that back to me and that’s fine, but… I’ll kick myself if I don’t tell you.”

He nodded because he already knew the truth of everything I’d said. “You sure you don’t want to stop all this?” he asked.

“I’m sure. It’s all I have right now. All I have to keep me happy.”

“I’ll try to make you happy for as long as I can,” he said. “I promise.”

I looked up to him. “And I promise I won’t turn into a creep over this,” I laughed.

He grabbed me around the shoulders and pulled me close, kissing my forehead. “Wanna head back now?”

“Actually,” I answered. “I could really go for some Chinese.”


	15. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy and Lana open up to each other.

“Ten minutes, Mr. Renner.”

“You hear that?” I asked him as I tried to mend the hole under the sleeve of his jacket. “Ten minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled. “I heard.”

“Nervous?”

He smiled a bit as he looked over at me. “Nervous that I won’t be able to move my arm after it’s been in this position for so long.”

“Good,” I told him. “You don’t want to move too much. Next time this rips, it’ll be a good one. I warned them about this cheap material.”

“It wouldn’t have ripped if I hadn’t been fooling around,” he told me. “It’s my own damn fault.”

I looked at him curiously. “Fooling around?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Scarlett and I were throwing a football around. That’s why I had to call you back in here.”

I nodded. Maybe I even whispered something like, “Oh…”

“Thanks for coming down here on such short notice. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I aim to please,” I grinned as I bit away at the thread. “There. Now be careful!”

“Kiss for good luck?” he asked me.

How could I say no?

I leaned in for a very quick kiss, then dismissed myself. Sure, I could have stayed, could have hung out in the green room and watched Jeremy and Scarlett on The Tonight Show, could have laughed along and ridden back with him to the hotel, but I chose to leave. I wasn’t feeling well.

I sat in my hotel room watching Friends reruns, looking casually over at the bottle of my favorite wine Scarlett had sent over as a thank you for my help, and I thought about having a drink. But instead I sat there, for once in my life resisting the urge to drown my sorrows in liquor.

What sorrows? Well, mostly it had to do with knowing I wouldn’t have Jeremy in my life much longer. Also, though, I missed my friend. The only friend who understood exactly what I was going through. The friend who now was at her home, sipping on her own favorite drinks, not a care in the world.

When the show came on that night, I laid in bed watching Jeremy and Scarlett in what would be their last interview together, and I couldn’t help but smile. They were so fucking perfect together.

Was I crazy to be involved with Jeremy?

Yes, but that’s beside the point.

I heard a quiet knock at the door. Funny how I even knew his knock now.

“Hey,” I answered curiously. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer verbally at first, simply leaning inside the doorway and kissing me.

“Thank you for that,” I giggled like a school girl. “But seriously?”

“I thought maybe we could hang out,” he said.

I opened the door wider for him to come in, and he immediately made his way to the bed, slipping out of his suit jacket and loosening his tie all before I even reached him.

“No, I don’t think we can hang out like that tonight,” I told him. “I’m not feeling too well.”

His face fell, and then a look of terror took over his entire countenance.

“Oh god,” he mumbled in a nervous way, “We didn’t use, oh god, you don’t think – you’re not – you know….”

“What?”

“Oh god, there’s no chance you’re pregnant, is there?”

I looked at him gravely for several seconds before finally bursting into laughter.

“What?” he asked seriously, grabbing my arm to keep me from falling out of bed.

“No!” I laughed, trying to settle down. “Jeremy, we had sex two days ago!”

“Yeah, but…”

“But I wouldn’t feel symptoms this soon,” I told him. “And besides, I’m not pregnant.”

“Yeah, but… how can you be sure? Are you on the pill or something?”  
“No,” I answered. “But I’m not, okay?”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, okay? Drop it.”

“Lana,” he nagged, and frankly I was starting to get really fucking pissed.

“God, Jeremy, how many fucking pregnancy scares have you had that you’re this paranoid? Jesus!”

I stood and downed another dose of that shitty pink medicine while he looked on. I guess he saw how pissed I was, because finally he shut the fuck up and sat there, twiddling his thumbs as he laid in the bed like it was his own fucking house.

I sat beside him and switched off the TV.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “That was probably annoying.”

“Yeah,” I said, though struggling to steady my voice. “It was.”

I could feel his eyes on me as I sat with my arms crossed over my chest, breathing deeply. “Hey,” he nudged me, “You okay?”

Goddammit, I tried to hold back the tears, but one of those little fuckers found its way down my face, and upon seeing it, Jeremy immediately shot up and sat as close to me as he could get.

“Look, I’m so sorry, Lana, really,” he insisted. “God, if I knew you’d take it so personally I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Well if it freaks you out so much, you should use a rubber next time you want to fuck me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hugging me.

Not that it would matter anyway.

“What?” he asked.

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

Yeah, I’d thought out loud again.

Actually, I was almost glad, for once. Maybe I should tell him after all.

“I – I can’t get pregnant,” I told him. “So… there. Now you know.”

He let go of me slowly, silently. Fuck. I knew I should have kept my damn mouth shut.

“Lana,” he whispered. “Ah, shit. Now I feel like an asshole.”

I couldn’t answer. What could I say? Should I tell him that, yeah, he was being kind of an asshole? Should I tell him it was okay for him to overreact? Because it wasn’t okay. I wasn’t o-fucking-kay.

It suddenly occurred to me that only about 3 people in the world knew about this. One was my grandma, the woman who raised me, another was my doctor, and the last was my last serious boyfriend, who dumped me when we found out.

So yeah, telling Jeremy was a really big deal.

“You didn’t know,” I told him finally. “And besides, it is what it is.”

I could tell by his squirming and the way he bit his lip raw that he felt uncomfortable, and who could blame him? He just wanted to come over for a quickie, not a life’s story.

“Can you not tell anyone?” I asked. Not that I knew who the hell would care or who he’d ever tell.

“Of course not,” he said.

I was still crying, maybe because of the revelation, maybe because of my stomach ache, maybe a little bit of both.

“Were you watching me on TV?” he asked, finally a smirk shadowed on his lips.

I had to smile back. “Maybe,” I giggled.

He laughed just then, and like some sort of magical fucking fountain, my aches started to cease at the sound of it, and the happiness I was so used to feeling in his presence started to return.

And dammit, did I love him.

I expected him to leave, but he reached over me to the side table and grabbed the remote, turning it back on and watching the remainder of the show, even though his part was long over. Some indie band was closing out the show, and his feet began to sway side-to-side at the beat.   
“I really loved them,” he told me. “I need to remember what the name of this song was so I can buy it.”

I looked up at him and smiled. He weaseled his way out of our awkward conversation somehow, and I didn’t mind.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.

He looked back at me and removed his tie as he answered. “Shoot.”

“Are you gonna miss her?”

His smirk, that little bit of his mouth that smiles wider than the other bits, just flashed at me while he pondered his answer. “Of course.”

“Like, miss her, miss her?”

“Are we doing this again?” he asked. “Are you asking me how I feel about her?”

“It’s just that last time we talked about it, you had feelings. And that’s fine, you know, I don’t mind. None of my business.”

“Then why are you asking?”

I chuckled. He had me. “You know why,” I told him.

“I told you I’ll always love her. She’s my best friend.”

“But is she more than that? Or will she ever be?”

“You know, it’s interesting,” he started. “And I wouldn’t even answer this question of yours if you weren’t directly involved in the answer, but….”

I waited for him to continue, but his eyes flew back to the screen as Jimmy Fallon came on.

“But what?”

“I’m gonna be on Fallon, right?”

I nodded. “Stop changing the subject,” I insisted. “You were in the middle of saying something.”

“Yeah, um,” I had never seen him struggle for words as he seemed to be doing now. “You gave me some really great advice. And I took that advice, and you know what? It helped. It helped a lot.”

“Advice?”

His eyes danced along with mine as he fought away a smile I knew he was hiding. “Yeah. You don’t remember?”

I tried to remember giving him advice about the Scarlett situation, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything.

“Well if you can’t remember, I’m not gonna remind you,” he said. “Point is, it worked. Scarlett’s my buddy now, and that’s all she’ll ever be. And I’m actually just fine with that.”

It didn’t even matter to me either, to be honest, what advice I had given him. Seeing that the result worked was all I really needed.

“Excited about Chicago?” he asked after another long pause. “Your home turf.”

“Yeah,” I gushed. “Oh, and I cannot wait to get back into my crappy little apartment and take a lukewarm shower and freeze my ass off because none of the windows are properly insulated.”

“Really?”

“No!” I laughed. “I’ll visit my cat, but I’m staying in the hotel.”

He laughed, too. “Ok, ‘cause I was gonna say…”

“Yeah, I’ll spend as much time as I can in the city. That’s all I do when I live there, pretty much, anyway.”

“Why don’t you just live in the city, then?”

“It’s friggin’ expensive,” I told him. “But then I guess you don’t think about that kind of thing, do you?”

“Hey, give me a break,” he answered. “There was a time I was dirt broke. I would have killed for a lukewarm shower to call my own.”

“You?” I asked in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nah, come on. You supposedly know so much about me. You never knew that?”

“I knew you struggled for a while, but I didn’t know things were that bad.”

“I’m ashamed of the things I did to get a little food in my stomach back in those days,” he smirked.

“Strip? Did you strip?”

“Yes,” he answered with a straight face, something I couldn’t have done in his situation. “But it was tasteful. I wore pasties.”

I punched him softly on the arm and roared in laughter imagining such a ridiculous thing. But even as he continued to talk about all the struggles, as he made a joke of it all and laughed it off like it was nothing, I could see that faraway look in his eyes, a look that spoke of his struggles even louder than his words did. And I began to admire him on a whole different level.

“When we get there, and only if you’re up to it, I’ll show you around the city,” I told him.

“Only if you take me to Athens Elite for a gyro.”

God, he remembered.

“Promise,” I smiled.

“And promise I can meet your cat.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m serious. I need to meet Bartholomew.”

“I’ll try to sneak him into the hotel,” I said. “But no promises.”

“I’ll just come to your apartment,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“Hollywood movie stars don’t go to Merrillville,” I said. “It’s right next door to Gary. Gary, Indiana. You know, formerly the murder capital of the world.”

“So?”

I raised my eyebrows in shock.

“You live there,” he said. “That’s good enough for me.”


	16. Fetish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana gives Jeremy something he's wanted for a very long time.

He looked like a million bucks in that black shirt and dark wash denim. I mean, fuck, this guy was hot.

Understatement.

I combed through his hair, noting the little bits of gray poking up along the sides. The sides had been graying for a while, but it seemed like out of nowhere they were becoming noticeable, taking him to a salt-and-pepper shade rather than his usual dirty blonde.

Very dirty blonde.

Hmmmm…

Anyway, I knew it was my job to cover up any “imperfections” and make him look his best on this tour, but I wasn’t quite sure how to say it. Should I tell him he was starting to look old and he might want to change that? Should I make him into another one of these stars surrounding us, conforming him to the mold of a perfect man as society sees, a man who never grays or thins, a man with a flat stomach and toned muscles and large penis?

And he had all those things, but now his hair was changing.

As his stylist, it wouldn’t have been a problem if this happened a few months ago. But now as his… whatever I was… how was I supposed to tell him?

“All set,” I told him as I finished giving him my favorite hairstyle for him. “Anything else?”

He stood and held his hands on my hips. “You need to stop saying that,” he whispered.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll tell you what else,” he smiled. Then he leaned forward, and his lips were on mine just like that.

My hands slid around to his back, and I traced up his spine while I focused on the touch he applied. I gripped the back of his neck and inched him even closer than he already was until his toes touched mine, and then I tossed my arms around his neck, completely engulfed in this kiss we shared, never, not ever, wanting to let go.

But he did. He had to.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he moved his head back from mine. “I’ve got, like 5 minutes before David gets here.”

I kissed him deeply once more. “Fuck David.”

“I’d rather fuck you,” he smiled wickedly.

“Come by tonight,” I told him. “Promptly this time.”

“I will,” He whispered. And I swear he looked at me with something more in his eyes than just lust.

But as I knew all too well, I’m really bad at interpreting those kinds of things.

I let go of him regretfully, and walked to the door, still that little something in the back of my mind telling me I needed to find a way to either ask him if he wanted to get his hair colored or schedule the appointment anyway.

God, I needed to do it.

“Hey, um, while I’ve got you,” I started. “I’m supposed to ask you – and this is stupid, I know – but do you want to, um, do you want to take care of those little gray hairs peeking out over your ears?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve been going gray for a long time. I’m not offended.”

Well that was certainly a load off…

“So, no?”

He looked over at the mirror and lightly swiped his fingers over the slick sides of his head. “What do you think?”

I walked over next to him and held his torso, propping my chin on his shoulder while we looked into the mirror together. “Keep it,” I whispered in his ear before biting his earlobe gently.

And then David walked in, and I had to let go of Jeremy before anything looked amiss.

And to say I was okay with that would be a lie.

But I kept telling Jeremy I was okay with it, and I told myself that, too.

He was amazing on the show, not that I expected anything less, and I knew he’d be showing up any minute. I thought about dressing up for him, pouring us some champagne, setting up a playlist of some sexy tunes, but I knew he didn’t care about those things, and I knew he’d be on me before he even noticed any of those things going on.

Not that I was anything special. Just I knew he was that horny.

When I heard his familiar knock, I opened the door, fully expecting him to pounce immediately. But instead he held out the most gorgeous bouquet of magnolias I’d ever seen.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed, accepting the bunch. “These are gorgeous!”

“They’re not by any chance your favorite, are they?” He asked sheepishly.

I was smelling them when he asked, and I lowered them and smiled sweetly in response. “No, but I love them anyway.”

“Ah, I was kinda hoping it would be one of those moments where you say ‘Oh, how did you know these were my favorites?’”

I chuckled at the imitation he was doing of my high-pitched voice. “I do not sound like that,” I laughed, slapping his arm.

I slapped his arm a lot, I guess.

“I almost got roses, but everybody gets roses,” he says. “I wanted to be different.”

“You are,” I assured him as I found a tumbler of water for the flowers. “You would be different even if you didn’t bring me any flowers at all.”

He flashed his silly grin as I returned. “Yeah?” he asked. “Why’s that?”

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked him, puzzled.

“Nah, come on,” he urged as I stepped into his waiting embrace. “What makes me so different?”

“Besides the obvious reason?” I asked.

I noticed he wasn’t smiling anymore as he nodded. Maybe he needed to feel validated, or like he was still special and attractive and amazing for reasons other than his celebrity status.

“You care about my feelings,” I told him. “Even if there wasn’t anything else, that’s already one step up from any boyf-… guy I’ve been with.”

“Yeah? Hard to believe.”

“And you’re the best looking of them all. And the most mature. And the funniest. Plus, I mean, come on. You’re just awesome.”

He smiled again, and he held me closer and then leaned forward and kissed my nose.

“And then you do things like that,” I whispered. “And I just melt.”

“Well don’t melt yet,” he told me. “I kinda want you to stick around a while.”

As he kissed me, I noticed something very different in this kiss. In fact every kiss we’d shared for the past few days had been growing stranger.

Maybe it was the beginning of the end.

He let go from the kiss (it was always him breaking it, it seemed), and he held my hand, walking me to the bed and sitting on the edge with me. For a moment he just stared at the floor, then he looked at me so suddenly and so strangely, it almost scared me.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s just that…” he began, his words staggering. “You’re so beautiful.”

I didn’t know what to say. Oh my god, he thought I was beautiful.

“And you’re hot, too,” I answered as I leaned in to kiss him again.

“Seriously, though,” he said after the kiss was over. “I want you to know that. I want you to know how beautiful you are.”

I wanted to cry. Only a handful of people had called me beautiful, even fewer of those were men, and none until now had ever seemed to say it just for the sake of informing me.

“Thank you,” I answered.

“Everything about you,” he said. “Everything is beautiful. Inside and out.”

“Oh no,” I said, releasing his hand. “Oh god, you’re letting me down easy, aren’t you?”

“What? No!”

“Oh,” I replied, surprised. “Well, why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s true,” he told me. “Because you need to know.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I muttered. “You don’t need to make me blush, you know.”

“I’m not just fooling around anymore,” he said. “You get that, right?”

I did not, in fact, get that.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I like you, Lana. Really.”

There were a lot of complicated thoughts dancing around in my brain, but I pushed them all aside as best I could, unwilling to let anything halt the evening I had planned.

“So now that you’ve flattered me,” I told him. “Can we rip each other’s clothes off?”

He chuckled. “If you insist,” he smiled. And when he held me again, I tossed aside all my doubts about him and me, doubts that I knew held solid ground, and I did what I told him I would, and melted into him as he took me into his arms.

He lowered me back slowly onto the bed, his hand behind my head as it hit the pillow, and he touched my softly on the chin with his other hand, hovering over me into a kiss while I reached up and unbuttoned his shirt slowly.

He planted his kisses softly on my lips, on my nose, on my cheeks, even. He’d never kissed me all over this way, but I loved it. It felt so tender and sweet, so familiar.

So loving.

I pushed back his shirt a little, then he removed it, revealing the bronzed skin that he had toned even on this busy trip. A slim silver chain dangled from his neck, touching me softly on my cleavage as his hands fell down onto my body. I could feel him reaching at the hem of my lace shorts, and he gently tugged them down, moving his body to the end of the bed as he pulled them finally over my feet and tossed them onto the floor.

I expected him to continue his usual routine, not that I’m complaining, but he didn’t. He grazed my thighs with his hands, his fingers trailing along my skin, over my knees, down my shins, gripping my feet. You would think by looking at those hands that he would have had a death grip, but he worked such magic as he moved both hands to one foot, gently massaging, rubbing away the tension that years of hurrying and scurrying in 4-inch heels can cause.

I watched how his eyes fixed themselves along the shape of my foot, like it was porn or something. His thumbs played under each of my toes, pressed themselves along ever crease in my footprint, and nuzzled into those little muscles I never even thought about before.

But god, was I ever thinking about them now.

His eyes shot up to mine suddenly, causing my heart beat to quicken. While we locked stares, he kissed the bottom of my foot, his lips softly pressed on the tender skin, tickling me slightly with his five o’clock shadow, but they were tickles that sent shivers through me.

He took my toes into his mouth one by one, closing his eyes as he apparently enjoyed the taste or the feeling or whatever it was about feet that he found so fucking sexy.

I mean, I didn’t get it, but I didn’t need to. This was good. Really fucking good.

With my free foot, I flicked his fly, making sure he felt me just enough to make him jump with excitement. He looked at me again, smiled, and moved one hand down to that foot. He placed his hand on it, then pressed it right into his crotch so that I could feel how hard he was.

He moved my foot up and down his shaft over his pants, and the hums this feeling caused for him echoed over the toe that was still in his mouth. And that hum – it did wonderful things to me.

He opened his pants, and I moved both feet down to it. Without hesitation, he held his dick between my feet and fucked them, first slowly, then roughly, harder, so hard I was afraid he’d cum on them, and I wasn’t going to let him finish that way.

Now just yet, anyway.

I reached up and grabbed him back down over me, assisting him in removing my clothes as quickly as I could. Or at least it would have been quick if he’d been able to focus. But he kept kissing me, sometimes softly, sometimes with full use of his magnificent tongue.

Once I was naked, I reached down to grab his cock and push it into me. Immediately the fusion caused me to yelp a bit, and he looked at me with concern in his eyes.

“Oh god,” I whimpered. “No, it’s okay.”

He kissed me again, and I think he kissed me more in the next ten minutes than he had in the entire time I’d known him.

As his body swayed over me, I watched his eyes locked on mine. I waited for signs that he was nearing the end, but I was continually distracted by the odd way he looked at me, the way a few stray hairs cascaded into his eyes, those way his lips felt when they touched mine. His hands held my body, my face even at some points, and he kept looking at me. We didn’t try any strange positions, no experimental techniques, nothing especially different, and yet this, this way we held each other, this way he felt on top of me and I under him, was the best I’d ever had.

Ever.

His pace quickened, he fell closer to me, and I halted him gently. “Let me do it,” I told him.

He backed off, and I placed my feet into his lap, which I think caught him by surprise. It was completely new to me, this fetish of his, this strange attraction to feet for some reason I didn’t really understand, but I wanted to let him have this. I wanted him to know I accepted this part of him.

Oh god, I accepted every part of him.

He stood just then at the foot of the bed and held my feet as he had before, and feeling his pulses between my arches was oddly pleasing to me. Not just the feeling of him on me itself, but seeing how he enjoyed it. Seeing how he enjoyed me. It made me quiver.

“Touch yourself,” he told me, and of course I obeyed. Like me, he enjoyed giving pleasure, and seeing how I felt, how I treated myself while I watched him, excited him to the point of no return, and he came on my feet, and his face turned into something wonderful I wanted to see every day forever and ever.

He collapsed into the bed beside me after he finished, and he laid beside me that way for a very long time.

“That was…” he started to speak in heavy breaths.

“…The best?” I asked.

He nodded and laughed, his heavy chuckle reminding me of yet another thing I loved about him.

His hand fell on top of mine, and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing it and laying it on his chest. I curled into the sheet, throwing it over both of us, wanting to be covered up now but far too sweaty for a blanket.

“You gonna sleep here?” I asked.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not. That’s why I asked.”

He smiled over at me silently, almost awkwardly.

“What?”

“You just have everything,” he said. “Everything I look for.”

I nodded politely. “Let’s not talk about that right now,” I said.

“Why not? I’m complimenting you. You don’t like hearing compliments?”

“I don’t like hearing empty words,” I said. “No offense.”

“You think I don’t mean what I say?”

“I think you mean it now,” I answered. “But I know this is gonna be over in…. god, less than two weeks… and I don’t want to think about this as anything other than what it is.”

“But what if it’s more than you think it is?”

I sighed. I meant it when I said I didn’t want to talk about it, but I might as well get it out, right?

“You’re gonna tell me this is more than just fooling around?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. I mean, now it’s just fun, but maybe someday it could be something real.”

I chuckled.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s just that word… someday…”

“You don’t think it’ll happen?”

“I know it won’t, Jeremy. It never does.”

“But…”

“No, stop,” I insisted, laying my hand to his chest. “I’m okay with it. Really.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh my god!” I shouted. “Drop it, already. I have been in a lot of fucking relationships that promised more someday. ‘We’ll get serious someday, babe,’ ‘I’ll say I love you someday, honey,’ ‘We’ll get married someday,’ and you know what? I’m done with someday. Done. I want now, or I don’t want anything. Just fun and fooling around until I finally find a man who promises me now.”

I had probably opened up a little too much, but I didn’t have a choice. He kind of made me.

“You’ve been hurt a lot,” he said. “And I promise I’ll never be another one who hurts you. If I ever get close to crossing a line, please tell me. Because maybe I can’t make any promises for the future, but something I can promise you now is that I won’t hurt you. Not on purpose. But you have to tell me, okay?”

The sincerity in his eyes was something I wasn’t used to. No one ever did this. God, why was the one perfect person in my life also completely unattainable?

“I will,” I promised.

He smiled with the corner of his mouth, then stood to put his boxers back on and he walked to the bathroom. While he was in there, I pulled my phone out from under the pillow and dialed the number of the one person I knew could help me, the one person I knew would give me honest advice that came from a place of honesty.

The one person who could truly understand my situation and tell me what the hell I was supposed to do.

Scarlett.


	17. Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana takes Jeremy through her city.

“Hey, beautiful,” she smiled. I just know she smiled.

I stepped into the hallway so that I could stay secluded from Jeremy as I spoke with my friend. “Hey, I have a problem.”

“What’s the matter, honey?”

I told her everything. I told her about my feelings, about what he said his feelings were, about the secrets I revealed to him, and about the sex.

The mind-blowing, other-worldly sex.

“Gee whiz,” she sighed. “That’s a whole lot of information.”

“I know, I know,” I admitted. “But dude, I’m at the end of my rope and I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

“About what?” she asked.

“About him. About how I feel about him.”

“Do you want to be with him?”

“In a perfect world,” I began, “In a world where he is in love with me like I am with him, sure. You know, in some alternate universe where the only feelings in the world are love and trust, where there’s no such thing as disappointment or broken hearts or sadness, sure. I would love to be with him under those circumstances.”

“But you know that’s not how it going to be, don’t you?”

I had to answer that yes, I was certain beyond a doubt that it would end badly if I got involved any deeper with Jeremy. “I just don’t want to get into it any more than what it is,” I told her. “It’d hurt too badly when it’s all over.”

“So as it is now,” she started, “Just to be clear, let’s say all of this with you guys was over tomorrow… you wouldn’t be hurt? You’d only be hurt if you were in an actual relationship?”

“I guess it would still hurt either way,” I said. “But at least I know to expect it now.”

“Babe, do you trust him not to hurt you?”  
“I know he’d never do it on purpose,” I told her. “He’s not like that.”

“No, he’s not,” she agreed.

“But it’s Jeremy Renner, movie star, millionaire, hottie, Mr. Perfect. A guy like him doesn’t get with a girl like me. Not for keeps.”

“And why not?”

“Because they go for girls who are just like them. Girls like you.”

She was silent on the other end, so much so that after a few seconds I glanced at my phone to see if I had dropped the call somehow. But finally I heard her soft breathing on the other end, and I listened, waiting for her reply.

“Stop beating yourself up, kid,” she said finally. “You know, I don’t have anything you don’t have. Nothing important, that is. You have everything you need to be happy, and you have plenty to offer any man, famous or not.”

“But it’s him,” I told her. “It’s him.”

“And it’s you,” she said. “And you have to do what’s best for you.”  
I nodded even though she couldn’t see it.

“So what’s your advice?” I asked.

“My advice is that you should do whatever you want to do. Period.”

“But should I keep it up with him? Should I sleep with him and fool around with him and then be done with it in a couple weeks?”

“If that’s what you want,” she responded. “If you think you can handle it.”  
“Tell me what to do!” I pleaded.

“I’m not gonna do that, babe. A friend will tell you what they think you want to hear. A friend will tell you to go for it if you’re attracted to him. A friend will tell you to have fun now and worry about your feelings later. But I’m not your friend, am I?”

Wasn’t she?

“I’m your buddy,” she giggled. “And a real buddy tells you to look out for yourself. A real buddy helps you figure out how you feel, then encourages you to do whatever those feelings tell you. And that’s what I’m telling you, babe. Go with your gut. What does your gut tell you?”  
I had to think. My gut was telling me I’d get hurt if I didn’t stop now. I mean, as I said, I’d be hurt anyway, but it wouldn’t compare to the kind of hurt I’d feel if I let myself believe he had feelings for me.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that one,” I told her.

He was absolutely brilliant and charming on television. His smile and charisma captivated the audience not only in the studio, but all over America. You just look at Jeremy, and you have to admire something about him.

Some of us admire him more than others, I guess.

And some of us do more than just admire him.

We spent only a couple more days, uneventful ones at that, in Los Angeles before we made the flight I have to admit I’d been waiting for since we first arrived in the states.

And it was on that flight that I noticed a change in Jeremy.

He was speaking to me only when necessary, and though he wasn’t curt, he was certainly growing more distant with each passing day. I assumed it was the way I spoke to him about the way I felt, maybe making the fatal mistake of being honest. He was so polite, though, when he did talk to me that it hurt.

It physically hurt.

I tried not to give his distance a second thought, really I did, but it was impossible given the fact that we were now sitting beside each other on that plane and he had yet to say more than good morning.

I had actually funded the difference myself to upgrade to first class. I wanted the trip to my home town (more or less) to be relaxing and perfect, and the Jeremy situation definitely wasn’t making that easy.

I could see the antenna of the Sears Tower and the familiar X marks on the Hancock Center as we hit the heart of the city at dusk. The filthy green hue of the Chicago River reminded me of my grandmother’s friend, Ethel, who lived in a high-rise on the river’s edge, and since then I had wanted to live there. And of course good old Lake Michigan greeted us all, calling upon me to remember the bright moments of my childhood. Though they were few and far between, I always had the memory of swimming in the lake and building sandcastles with my mom that one time she wanted to be my mother.

But that’s a story for another time.

O’Hare was not nearly as busy as LAX that time of day, but it still had its crew, its autograph hunters who knew when stars were flying in, and Jeremy rushed ahead of me with his crew while I strolled humbly behind by several hundred yards.   
And I knew even then that I could never live that kind of life.

We stayed at the Palmer House, an old, gorgeous monster of a hotel in the heart of Downtown, and I remembered how I’d saved up every year since my first fast-food job, scraping every bit together so that I could tag along with my friends for Soxfest, even staying in the hotel every night between the days we stood in line for hours to meet our beloved White Sox players. I remembered meeting Robin Ventura for the first time, speechless in front of him, probably crediting that awkward moment as the reason I couldn’t speak in those situations. My first words to Robin ended up being something like, “You have the talents and I love.”

Don’t blame me. I was 13 and full of raging hormones.

I accompanied Jeremy to his suite, and I always had wondered how those suites looked. In college, my friends and I would wait at the hotel bar, hoping a Sox player might ask us up to their room. My friend, Lori, was successful. I wasn’t, unfortunately.

Though it was probably pretty fortunate for those players.

But enough about the old days…

“Here’s you’re suit for The Wind,” I told him, referring to the small talk show on which he would appear the next morning. “And then this one is for the movie review.”

“What time will you be by?” he asked, barely looking at me, mumbling his words.

“Uh, about six,” I answered. “It’s an early show.”

“Damn, no mercy, huh?” he chuckled a bit. “Ok, see ya in the morning.”

I walked to the door, but his voice stopped me suddenly.

“You must be happy to be home, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, more or less,” I smiled graciously. “Probably heading over to my apartment tomorrow afternoon. If I’m not needed, that is.”

He nodded, and I hesitated to leave. Maybe he had more to say?  
He looked at me gravely, that infamous resting face just as frightening in person, if not more so.

“Ok, well…”

“Yeah…”

“I’d better go.”

He nodded and his eyebrows raised, wrinkling maturely and sweetly with seeming concern. “Sorry about everything,” he said, and that unexpectedly.

“It’s okay,” I smiled to him. “At least you’ve been up front with me. I’ve appreciated that.”

“And I’ve appreciated everything as well,” he said. “I love how well you’ve treated me even though I’m a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I joked.

He stepped toward me, every click of his heel against the elaborate tile matching the quickening pace of my heart. “You’re the best, Lana.”

He reached forward, as if he was ready and waiting for a hug, and I moved forward into his arms, holding him in return and probably for longer than I should have.

Feeling that familiar warmth, that safe place I had found some time before, I was reminded again how much I loved him.

As if I needed to be reminded.

As I let go, and it was me that let go that time, I smiled up into his welcoming eyes. “God, I’m gonna miss those eyes.”

He chuckled a little. “Not yet,” he said. “We’ll still be stickin’ around each other for another week, right?”

“Right,” I agreed. But I knew how fast that time would go by.

I turned to leave again, but I felt his hand holding mine, preventing me from leaving. I looked back at him, and I knew, I just knew, he had to see the sad inside me.

“I’ll see ya in the morning.”

I nodded again. Words just didn’t seem fitting when I considered my emotions.

He leaned forward, and I waited for his lips to plot themselves on my cheek, maybe even my forehead if he wanted to be especially cruel. But I found them on my lips just briefly, gone before I fully even realized they were there in the first place.

It wasn’t easy to leave. I walked out of that room and into a familiar place, a place that until now held only my fondest memories.

But now this place was where I realized just how final things with Jeremy were.

I had a week, an entire week to enjoy him still. I should have been glad. But all I could think about was returning to New York, to the city where this trip began almost a month ago already, and maybe kissing him for the last time – if that kiss we’d just shared wasn’t the last, that is.

In the morning, I found Jeremy running through his schedule with David. Was I glad he wasn’t alone? Sort of. I mean, there was always going to be a temptation to make love to him one last time. But we had done it “one last time” about three times already, each time more blissful than the one before. In short, I was okay with having David to cock-block us and get in the way of any more of that lovely agony.

I stared at Jeremy’s hair for a while, his gorgeous, thick head of California hair, the kind of hair they grow out west, the kind of hair they are somehow blessed with out there due to god-knows-what. I thought about combing it through, making his as sophisticated as ever, maybe gathering the top into another semi-pompadour, but I knew there was only one way for my Chi-town Jeremy to be styled, and that was that fresh-out-of-bed look.

My fingers full of paste pulled at his roots, and he knew I was being a little bit rough on purpose, as he glanced up at me with the shadow of a smile traced across his lips. I didn’t smile back, though. I couldn’t let him see me noticing him any more than necessary.

“All set,” I announced. “Anything else?”

He gave me that look again.

“Right,” I answered with a shake of my head. “Never ask that.”

“Never,” he laughed.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you guys and I don’t care, but we have a schedule to get back to,” David scowled at me.

“Ah, it’s all in good fun, man, chill,” he told David. “We’re friends.”

Friends.

I was starting to hate that fucking word.

“We’ll be on The Wind in about an hour, and I already gave them Tracy’s topics list. Anything else you don’t want them to cover besides the usual stuff?” David readied himself with a pad and paper, awaiting Jeremy’s reply.

“Nothing too personal,” he said. “But other than that, anything goes, I guess.”

I wondered if I would be allowed to ask him anything personal ever again.

“See you at noon,” I told Jeremy, packing my bag.

“Noon?” Jeremy asked. “What for?”

“For the news show you’re doing,” I answered. “It’s at two, right?” I asked David.

“Oh, they cancelled,” David told me. “Sorry, thought you got the memo.”

I sighed. “No one ever tells me anything, I swear to god…”

“You can still see me at noon if you want,” Jeremy called out hastily before I left. “Maybe we can grab lunch. You owe me a gyro.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” I laughed back. And before I realized what a mistake going out to eat with him would be, I answered back, “See you then.”

“So is it a date?” I asked Scarlett over the phone just a few hours later.

“Well, did you shave your legs?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Sounds like a date, then.”

“I shave my legs all the time,” I told her. “That means nothing.”

“What are you gonna wear?” she asked.  
“Pink flared skirt and graphic tee. Probably my navy blazer, too.”

“Heels?”

“Heels.”

“Those are date clothes,” she said. “Seriously, Lana, you’re in the fashion business. You didn’t know that?”

“Scarlett, I am serious!” I said in an excruciating tone. “Is this a bad idea?”

She hesitated. “Think for yourself, Lana. You’ve been living a life where everyone has been telling you what to do and how to think, and now you have to think for yourself.

She didn’t even know that much about my personal life. How could she possibly have guessed that?

“Ok, well then I decide it’s not a date. Just lunch. Lunch with a friend.”

“There ya go, sweetie,” she told me in her smiling voice. “Now behave yourself. I gotta get to a party.”

I let her go, feeling somewhat self-assured and confident in my decision to treat him purely platonically.

I could do that, right?

The host of The Wind was an older gentleman, a man who was something of a culinary legend in Chicago. Most of the time, his show revolved around the best food stops in town, his interests usually catering to tourists or newbies to the city. But every once in a while, Leonard Smith would have a movie star or two visit his show, and with Jeremy there, this was one such occasion.

They didn’t talk about the movie much, and when I stepped into the small north side studio, I watched the two guys grilling up some sort of pineapple salmon. It looked good, smelled good, and obviously tasted good, judging by the look of sexual ecstasy in Jeremy’s eyes when he took a bite. And oh god, I think Leonard had a little crush on him.

They must have talked for an hour after the show, Jeremy graciously listening to Leonard’s drabble as the studio employees un-miked them. And I stood by with David, David who hated me now for some reason it seemed, until Jeremy finally broke free from the conversation and made his way to us.

“You’re on the morning edition at 8 tomorrow,” David told Jeremy, “Which means we’ll need to leave by 6:30.”

“Sheesh,” Jeremy frowned. “You Chicagoans are early risers, huh?”

I flashed him a meek smile.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow unless you have any questions.”

“No questions,” Jeremy smiled finally while he looked at me.

David drove off, and Jeremy took my hand once we were out of view.

“Hungry?” I asked.

“So hungry,” he grinned. “Athens Elite?”

“Nowhere else,” I told him assuredly. “I’ve been dying for one for ages now.”

We grabbed a cab and took it into the city, Jeremy never minding the heaping fare we were racking up. I showed him Buckingham Fountain and The Bridge Museum and The Art Institute and everything else of note that we passed. And all along the way, he smiled. I watched his eyes looking up into the moldings of the structures on Michigan Avenue, admiring the architecture, no doubt. At the sight of the lake he watched the boats as they docked like he was a kid in the candy shop, and yet a kid who could afford as much fucking candy as he could stand. In admiration, he “ooed” and “aahed” at every hand-sculpted statue in Millennium Park, and when he saw the historic Lincoln Hotel, we finally stepped out of the cab and walked along the street opposite the zoo in that very neighborhood.

“It’s about three blocks up,” I told him. “It’s not much to look at. Kind of one of those holes in the wall. But damn.”

He chuckled, reaching his hand to mine again.

I should have asked why he kept doing that. I should have reminded him of how distant he’d been and why he had been that way. I should have told him that the plain old truth was that I didn’t exactly have much faith in us, and that he should probably get away from me as fast as possible.

But I didn’t. I just held his hand and walked all of those three blocks, lighting up from the inside out when I saw the blue and white sign pointing to the restaurant’s entrance. “Athens Elite!” I cried, dramatically hugging the wall.

“This place had better not disappoint,” he growled when we stepped inside.

His jaw dropped when he surveyed the menu that took up an entire wall. “How do you get your gyro?” I asked him.

He shrugged, his eyes still glued on the poor spelling of such words as “handmaked pizza” and “spigetty.”

“However you do,” he smiled.

“Al!” I greeted the owner enthusiastically. “Hey! How’s the family?”

“Family’s good, Lana,” he returned. “Ah, you look even younger than the last time I saw you.”

We exchanged niceties, but I worried that I was neglecting Jeremy. Looking over at him, though, he was still eying that menu, and I looked back at Al and laughed.

“The usual?” he asked me.

“Two this time,” I answered. “This guy’s never been here.”

“Of course he hasn’t. Why, you can see the Hollywood all over his face!”

At this, Jeremy looked over to us and we laughed together at him, and at the way he wasn’t used to people who ate actual meals, apparently.

“One for you, and one for the boyfriend,” Al said, heading to the back.

“Oh, so I’m your boyfriend, huh?” Jeremy chuckled.

“What? No! No, of course not! Al’s just – he doesn’t know you and, you know, he just says stuff. Don’t listen to him.”

“It’s okay,” Jeremy told me. “You don’t have to get so crazy about it.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Lana,” Jeremy almost whispered as he took my hand again. “What do you expect him to think? We’re together, we’re holding hands, we’re kissing…”

At this, he leaned over and kissed me so softly I could have just died. I mean, Holy Christ, man! Stop being so fucking sexy! Do you have any idea what it does to me?

“Ah, didn’t waste any time getting another one, did you?”

I looked to the voice that spoke and noticed Danny, Al’s son. He was about my age, a tall, brooding man with a growing beard and strong, thick arms and legs. He’d been a football player in high school he said, and he claimed he could still tackle any three men to the ground at any given point. He was the type who bragged about everything, the type that had to one-up everyone’s accomplishments. He was like some ridiculous super-villain, except I don’t think he ever actually had the balls to kill anyone.

Oh come on, you know the type.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered offensively. “That’s the fuckin’… he’s Hawkeye!”

“Oh great,” I mumbled almost silently. “Uh, yeah… Danny, this is Jeremy. Jeremy, Danny. Danny’s Al’s son.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Jeremy said as he reached out his hand.

Danny scowled and let out a sarcastic sigh, shaking Jeremy’s hand only enough to be done with it. “Ya know, I was in a movie once,” he told Jeremy.

Oh god.

“I was a stuntman. I did all that shit you pussies won’t do. You know, I’m the one that crashes the car or falls out the window or gets hit by a bus because you guys don’t have the fucking balls.”

Jeremy looked at me and smiled. Then he looked back at Danny.

“And not only that,” Danny continued, “But I fucked Eva Mendez once. She wanted more, but ya know, I couldn’t get attached.”

“Sure you did, man,” Jeremy said, trying not to laugh.

I was glad Jeremy didn’t take Danny seriously. Oh god, Danny had to be the most offensive human being on the face of the earth. If you could even call him a human being.

“I did!” Danny insisted. “Man, I’ll give you fucking details and everything.”

“That’s okay,” Jeremy said with a shake of his head. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“So, Lana, where the fuck did you pick him up?”

“I didn’t pick him up, Danny,” I barked. I mean, I tried to control myself around Danny but he just had a way of pissing me the fuck off at even just the sight of him.

Jeremy chuckled. “She and I are working together,” he told him.

“Working together? You in the movies now, Lana?”  
“Stylist,” I answered. I had to keep my answers as brief as possible to avoid becoming as offensive as Danny.

“Stylist? Ha! Get a real job!” Danny laughed. And as he did, I walked behind Jeremy and placed my forhead to the middle of his back.

“I swear to god, I’m gonna kill that guy one of these days,” I whispered.

“It is a real job, man. You wouldn’t believe the shit she has to put up with for me.”

Jeremy didn’t have to stand up for me. He didn’t have to talk to Danny at all. A guy like Jeremy didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do, but he did it all anyway. And why? Because we were friends? If not, I can’t imagine another reason.

“You still have your mommy dress you at home?” he chuckled to Jeremy. “You need someone to pick out your fucking underwear and set out your socks?”

Jeremy just smiled and nodded, and in Danny’s eyes arose the ire he felt at not being able to break Jeremy of his calm state.

And I realized I always let Danny get to me. Ignoring him was the best thing I could ever possibly do, apparently.

“Danny, get your ass back in the kitchen,” Al called as he reentered the main room. And Danny obeyed, because the only person Danny couldn’t be a dick to was his father, even though Al was easily half his size.

And I guess that’s how it goes with fathers. I wouldn’t know.

“Two minutes,” Al smiled. “Roasting a fresh spindle for you.”

“Thanks, man,” Jeremy nodded in acknowledgement.

“So how was Europe?” Al asked me. “Did you see anything new?”

“Loads,” I gushed. And even though no one could tell, I wasn’t just talking about the fucking Eiffel Tower.

“Feta, right?” he asked before he headed back.

“You know it!” I winked.

When we were alone again, I turned to Jeremy. “You handled Danny pretty well,” I said.

“Ah, you get used to guys like that in my line of work,” he said. “I’ve seen even worse, believe me.”

“Two gyros with feta,” Al said with a smile, handing us the bag. “Drinks?”

“We’ll take these to go,” I said. “How much?”

“For you and your boyfriend, free,” he smiled.

“Oh, he’s not my-“

“Hey, the man said ‘free,’” Jeremy laughed.

We thanked him profusely and left. It was chilly out, but not too cold to enjoy lunch on the dock at Navy Pier.

Now I have to admit, I’m not proud of the way that I mouth-fucked that sandwich. I should have been embarrassed, but let me tell you something. A soldier coming home from leave just wants to get laid. And in this case, I was the soldier, and that gyro sandwich… well… you get it, right?

“This is the best fucking thing,” Jeremy groaned with a mouth full of gyro. “What the hell is in this? Cocaine? How is it that I can’t put this down?”  
“It’s a feat of epic proportions,” I laughed, wiping the cucumber sauce from my cheek. “So I was right, yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” he laughed. “This thing is… I mean… I can’t even put it into words.”

“Sex in a pita,” I said.

“Sex in a pita!”

It didn’t take us long to finish, as I’m sure you can imagine. And once we had, we were too stuffed to move. Besides, the sight of the waves as they crashed into the historic ships beside us, the sounds of the gulls as they grabbed remnants of old fries from the concrete, and the generally peaceful environment made it impossible to leave.

“I’m actually glad that all the stuff I hear about the locals here is true,” Jeremy said. “I’m glad no one is nice to anyone.”

“Sometimes they’re nice,” I told him.

“Really?”

“No, they’re all dicks.”

“It’s refreshing not being bothered,” he said. “I feel like just another face in the crowd, and I love that.”

“You should move here,” I joked.

He laughed a little. “If I didn’t need to do what I do for a living, I would.”

And then there was a silence between us. Not one of those awkward silences, not one where I worried about thinking out loud like I usually did. Not one that was filled with sexual tension so thick you could slice it with a knife. But just the two of us, him and me, enjoying the breeze as it blew back my hair against the leather of his jacket and urged his scent to my nostrils.

“So have you always lived here?” he asked after a while.

“Well I’ve never lived here,” I said. “But I’ve lived in Indiana my whole life, yeah.”

“You should really move to this city. It’s awesome.”

“Oh, I will,” I told him. “Just as soon as I win that Powerball jackpot.”

“Is it that expensive?” he asked.

“Well the way I look at it, if you’re gonna live in the city, you need to live in one of those condos on Lake Shore Drive. And if you live there, you have to have money. And lots of it.”

“Well, one day when you’re styling for movies, you can afford it,” he said.

I looked over at his grin, it’s lopsidedness teasing me so beautifully as he expressed his sense of value for me. Yeah, I’d dreamed of winning an Oscar for costume design, or maybe just founding my own design company, dressing the stars for the red carpet. A million times I’d dreamed of Billy Bush asking Sandra Bullock who she was wearing and hearing her reply “Lana Fillmore.”

But dreams are dreams and reality is reality and never the twain shall meet.

“One day,” I said, hopelessly.

“Hey, can I ask you a personal question?” He asked.

“Well, you’ve seen me naked,” I replied. “Pretty sure nothing’s too personal at this point.”

“You said a few days ago that your grandmother raised you. Why your grandmother?”

I curled the corner of my mouth up to let him know I didn’t mind the question. Yes, it was personal, but I was so used to it, used to the circumstances surrounding it, that I didn’t mind answering.

“My mom had me in high school,” I told him. “And she wasn’t ready obviously, so my Gramma said she’d raise me until my mom graduated college and all that. But then my mom left for college and didn’t come back.”

Jeremy’s eyes drifted to the pavement. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s rough.”

“I’ve met her a couple times,” I said. “She’s actually a really nice person. I think she just had a baby before she was ready for one and then she let guilt get the best of her. She didn’t want to raise me, but she didn’t want to be around me if she wasn’t raising me either, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that, I guess.”

“She came over a few times for Christmas. Once or twice in the summer months. Last I heard she was married, but she never had any more kids. I guess I wouldn’t either.”

He reached over his hand to hold mine. Such a simple gesture. And never had I ever cried over my birth mother, but there I sat, tears approaching the surface of my eyes, and it took ever bit of effort in me to keep them from falling down my cheeks.

“I’m fine, really,” I told him. “I know it sounds like a sad story, but my Gramma is the best thing that ever happened to me. I think she raised me pretty well, don’t you?”

“And you never knew your dad?”

“I knew of him,” I said. “I asked my mother about him once, and she told me how he was really cute but really dumb. Those were her exact words. His last name was Perkins, if I remember correctly. I never looked him up, though. He never wanted me, so why should I ever want him?”

“You seemed to handle it all well.”

“Like I said, my Gramma did well with me. At least, in my opinion she did.”

“And what’s your Gramma like?”

“Hilarious,” I smiled. “A ditz. I miss her. God, I should call her and let her know I’ll be home tonight.”

“Why don’t you just surprise her? I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Yeah, but she worries about me. I haven’t called her this entire trip except once in Cali. After this, we should head back. I need to grab a bag and stay at my place tonight.”

“You wanna head back soon?” he asked. “Because I’m kinda liking this, right here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Is this how you treat all your dates? Because if so, I don’t know how you’re not married by now.”

Well maybe I didn’t want this to be a date, but I guess he did.

“Who said I wanted to get married and settle down?”

“You don’t?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe one day, years from now. Not immediately. I’m not one of those kinds of girls who is obsessed with romance and chick flicks and Victorian novels and picket fences.”

“Yes you are,” he said plainly.

I looked at him, a mixture of curiosity and surprise on my face, I’m sure. “No I’m not!”

“Yes you are,” he said again. “You like to pretend you’re not, but you are. You want to make it seem like that kind of thing doesn’t matter to you, but it does, Lana. I can tell.”

“You don’t know about me,” I said. “Don’t pretend you do.”

“If you weren’t so old fashioned, you wouldn’t insist on promises. Come on, Lana, that’s plain enough for anyone to see.”

I think I worked on a cracking fingernail as I sat beside him, no longer looking into his eyes lest he see my tears. I told him he was wrong. Hell, I told myself he was wrong. But he and I and everyone else knew I was lying.

“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?” he asked.

“Wow, you’re just full of questions, aren’t you?”

“Look, if it’s more than you want to talk about, I won’t ask.”

“No, it’s okay,” I told him. And really it was. And maybe I could ask him some questions later, too. “I had a high school boyfriend. We were making plans and stuff, but yeah… we went to different colleges and lost touch, and it didn’t work out. And then there was Andy. He was the one who dumped me when he found out I couldn’t have kids.”

“What an asshole,” Jeremy spewed.

I laughed at his choice of words, and once he saw me laughing, he laughed, too. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess he was. But what about you? You ever think you’ll do the whole settling down, domesticated thing?”

“I want to,” he said. “I mean, in theory I do. But I’m so busy right now, I feel like I wouldn’t be able to be successful in my career and in a family setting, you know, because I get so involved in everything I do. I’d have to be completely committed to my work and completely committed to a family at the same time. And I’m not saying that’s impossible, but it just seems like a little more than I can handle right now.”

And there it was, the answer I’d been looking for. I wanted it not to bother me, but it did. I mean, it’s not like Jeremy fucking Renner would ever settle down with me if he ever did decide to settle down, but I wanted to believe it was possible. And there the proof was, right in that delicious pudding beside me, there with his feet dangling over the edge of a dock I’m pretty sure we weren’t legally supposed to even be sitting on.

“Enough of this talk,” I said. I wanted to stay and talk forever really, but I needed to get home to my Gramma. And besides, this conversation wasn’t exactly lifting my spirits. “I’ve really got to get home.”

He stood with me, and we headed to the street to grab a taxi. “Mind if I tag along?” he asked.

“Why on God’s green earth would you want to come to Podunk, Indiana?”

He chuckled as we sat in the back seat. “I’m having fun,” he said. “I haven’t had fun like this in a while. And I have to believe that maybe it might just have something to do with you.”


	18. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy and Lana go home and talk.

We’d picked up my car from the parking garage I’d had it at, and I drove him out of the city, down the oh-so-lovely (and yes that’s sarcastic) I-94, back into Indiana. It was only about a thirty-minute trip, but it felt like hours. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to his seeing where I lived.

“You pick the music,” I told him.

He looked through my CD collection. “Sinatra, Martin, Buble, Como… what is this? Seriously, this is all you’ve got?”  
“There’s some P!nk in there somewhere,” I told him. “I love her.”

“Where’s your ACDC? Pink Floyd? Come on, no Alabama, even?”

“Sorry, that’s not really my thing,” I said. “I don’t mind it, it’s just not my type of music. There are radio stations too, you know.”

He looked at the sorry excuse of a stereo on my ten-year-old sedan. “No satellite radio, I assume?”

“No, rich boy, no satellite radio. Deal with it.”

He snickered a little bit. “Ok, ok, don’t get snarky.” His fingers played over the buttons and knobs and dials, and he asked me how it worked but to be honest I rarely ever used the radio.

“Wait, I think I heard Journey there,” he said excitedly as he skipped over a station. “Let me see… yes! Okay, let’s hope this station doesn’t suck.”

“Maybe the stations don’t suck,” I said. “Maybe it’s your taste in music.”

“My taste? Please.”

“What’s wrong with my taste? I like the classics.”

“This isn’t 1943,” he said. “Guess what? The war is over and we won. Hitler is dead.”

Maybe he was being irritating, but I just loved how he sassed at me. And I loved that he felt comfortable enough to do that.

And I loved him.

I probably would have been embarrassed if I thought Jeremy had any real long-term plans for me. But as it stood now, why shouldn’t I show him that shit-hole I lived in?

I shouldn’t call it that, I guess. A lot of people are worse off or have nowhere to live at all. A regular routine of trips to California and a recent tour of the finest hotels the world has to offer might have spoiled me just a bit.

“This is it,” I told him when we pulled into the parking lot. “That’s my building, number 31.”

“These are cute,” he smiled. “I like them.”

“They’re not so bad, I guess. I’ve seen worse.”

We stepped out of the car, a stray dog following us. “Whoa, who’s this?” he asked when the dog licked his hand.

“Oh, I don’t know who she belongs to, but she’s always loose. I call her Annie.”

He stopped and knelt down, allowing Annie, a dog who could have been full of any number of diseases, a dog that may or may not have had rabies or at the very least, a vicious side to her, lick his face and jump onto his shoulders, and Jeremy even scratched her belly there on the pavement when she rolled around in front of him.

I guess his charm was not limited to females of the human race.

Suddenly Annie up and ran as Annie does, and Jeremy rejoined me, following shortly behind me as I stepped up to my building, opened the door, and began the ascent to the third floor.

“Ah, I missed these stairs,” I sighed with a chuckle. “And that smell. Oh how I missed that smell of some sort of cheese mixed with urine.”

“That’s very specific,” he laughed. “Just smells a little stale, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to pretend this place isn’t a dump,” I told him. “I’m well aware it is. And even more so to you now that you’ve been all Hollywood for so many years.”

When we finally reached my door, I unlocked it, and before I could open it, I heard Bartholomew’s claws on the door. He knew I was home. He knew it was me.

“Baby!” I called to Bart when I saw him. And that baby of mine jumped right into my arms and nuzzled my chin and purred so loudly I thought the whole building could hear.

“He’s such a cutie!” Jeremy smiled, scratching at my kitty’s chin.

“Gramma?” I called. I knew she’d be spending almost every day here, and I assumed she was home.

“Lana banana!” She screeched as she entered from the back bedroom. “I had no idea!”

And yes, my gramma said “banana” the way the English do.

“We got in yesterday, but a little too late to stop by,” I told her as I hugged her. “And Gramma, this is Jeremy. Jeremy, this is my Gramma, Pat.”

“Nice to meet you, Pat,” he charmed her.

“Oh, son of a biscuit,” she alarmed. “You are one big old pack of man meat, now aren’t you?”

“Gramma!” I shouted at her. “Can you not?”

“What? I’m just stating the obvious.”

“That’s ok,” Jeremy chuckled. “I have a feeling she’s at that point where she can pretty much get away with saying anything, right?” he said to me.

I shook my head, feeling the red that now surely overtook my entire countenance. “Jeremy and I are working together, Gramma. We’re sort of like buddies, and I’m showing him around.”

“Well, gosh darn it, I shoulda made some dinner for you. I can order something if you’d like.”

“Oh that’s okay, Gramma,” I told her. “We ate before we came here.”

“Well come on in!” she smiled gleefully. “Have a seat! Not that I need to tell you, Lana. I mean after all it is your home, isn’t it…”

“Go ahead and sit down,” I told Jeremy. “I’m gonna make some coffee.”

I headed to the kitchen, and of course my Gramma followed shortly after me. “He’s a cutie patootie,” she grinned.

I looked back at her and smiled, then gave her a proper hug since I’d neglected to do so when we arrived. “Yeah he is,” I answered.

She helped me set up the coffee maker, and all the while I explained all of the beautiful things I‘d seen. I told her about the rivers of Paris and the busy streets of London and the lights of Tokyo and how little I’d actually been able to really enjoy Australia. And she listened politely, but I could see a look in her eye like she had something to say and she as just waiting on me to finish talking so that she could get it out.

“So is this one a boyfriend?” she asked me.

“Oh, um, no,” I answered. “I told you he’s just my buddy.”

“Yeah, but honey,” she whispered, leaning forward while I scooped the grounds into the basket. “I had a few buddies in my day too. Bed time buddies, if you know what I mean.”

“Gramma!” I whispered harshly. “Can you stop?”

Like me, my Gramma said a lot of inappropriate things. Unlike me, however, she actually meant to say them.

“I’m just asking, Sweetie,” she said. “You know you can tell me anything. Are you two sexually active?”

“Oh my god,” I said quietly as I returned to the living room.

“Hey, you never told me you played guitar,” Jeremy said as I entered the room.

“Oh, she doesn’t, honey,” Gramma said. “That belonged to my brother. He left it to her when he died.”

I shuttered at my Gramma’s words kind of bringing the atmosphere to a screeching halt, causing Jeremy’s sweet smile to slowly fade as he placed the instrument back on the stand. “I’ve always wanted to learn,” I said. “Do you play?”

“A little,” he told me, his smile returning.

“Well we all know Lana’s gonna ask you to play something, so why don’t you guys stop beating around the bush and get at it?” My Gramma said, gripping the guitar and handing it to him. “Let’s hear you put your money where your mouth is.”

I buried my face into my hands. Yeah, Gramma was good at getting to the point, but maybe she was too good.

“Oh, I don’t want to take up your time or anything…”

“Ah, shut up and play,” Gramma laughed.

Jeremy held the guitar awkwardly, looked at me until I gave a hesitant nod of approval, and quickly tuned it aided only by his own keen ear for pitch.

He strummed at it slowly, inexpertly, feeling around for the right tune and key. Finally he went to town on that thing, playing a soulful melody I’d never heard, but one I could have listened to for days.

“Never My Love!” Gramma exclaimed as she clapped at the conclusion. “I had no idea someone so young would play a song by The Association.”

“Oh, um, I’ve known that tune forever,” he grinned shyly. And even though I was thoroughly embarrassed, I was kind of glad Gramma made him play.

And also kind of sad. Because every new thing he did made me love him more and hope for us less.

“‘You ask me if there’ll come a time, when I grow tired of you,’” my Gramma began to sing. “Never my love, Never my love…”

She continued to sing the old melody in her soprano, and I sat back smiling at the way they interacted, Jeremy plucking at the strings, even messing up a little. And then my Gramma, so comfortable with this total stranger she’d never even heard of.

This was home.

We drank some coffee and talked about work, and Jeremy finally told her what he did. It didn’t impress her, but she thought it was interesting. She even promised to see his movie if he bought her a ticket. And finally it was dark outside, and Gramma headed home, leaving Jeremy with a lipstick-stained kiss on his cheek before she darted down the stairs.

“She’s really a character, huh?” Jeremy grinned once she’d pulled away.

“Yeah, but she’s not always so… um… crazy.”

“I like her,” he said. “She’s very honest, isn’t she?”

I laughed and cleared the coffee table of mugs and trays. “Yeah, she’s something.”

Jeremy followed me into the kitchen with his own mug, and he helped me load the dishwasher as our conversation continued. “This place is really cute,” he said.

“It works for me,” I told him with a shrug. “There’s not much to see, but if you want, I’ll show you around.”

“Please,” he smiled generously. And I knew he was only being polite.

I closed the washer and started it. “Well, as you can see, this is the kitchen.”

He grabbed my hand as we walked out of that room.

“This is the living room,” I continued, “And this over here is the hall that leads to the bathroom. There’s my shower. And there’s the bedroom, down there at the end of the hall.”

He stepped in front of me, pulling gently on my hand. “Show me,” he said in a quiet tone.

I froze. My hand gripped his, and my bare feet stayed planted in the ground. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was just that it was him. And me. And my bedroom. My own, personal bedroom.

“Come on,” he urged. “You don’t mind, do ya?”

I finally managed to move my foot toward him, then the other, then within a few steps there we were, standing inside my bedroom that still stood as a shrine to the boy bands of my youth.

“Um, how old are you again?” he laughed.

“Shut up,” I laughed. “It’s been like this for ten years. I don’t even remember half these bands!”

“You’ve lived here ten years?” he asked.

“Yeah, ever since I got my first real job. I always wanted to be independent.”

His eyes creased into half-moons. “You’re the cutest,” he said, shaking his head.

I wondered why he thought that. “Yeah?” I asked. “And why’s that?”

“Because if anyone had an excuse to just totally fuck up their life, it’s you. You coulda given up and lived off your sad story and dwelt in your misery, but you didn’t. Dammit, Lana, that’s just the cutest fucking thing.”

“You’re weird,” I laughed. “But thanks, I guess.”

“Panty raid?” he smiled devilishly, staring at my lingerie chest.

“No!” I laughed.

“I’m gonna do it anyway,” he smiled. “I’m gonna do it. Look, my hand’s getting closer to the drawer. Oops, my hand’s on the pull… oh man, I’m gonna open it…”

I let him be just as childish as he wished. He was adorable like this. But I gave him no reaction but a smirk that only crept upon my mouth because I forced it to.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I squeezed his hand tighter. “Come on,” I whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I like it here,” he said. “If these walls could talk, I bet they’d have plenty to say, huh?”

I let out a sarcastic “ha” or something along those lines and sat on my bed. “They might, but none of it would be good.”

“That many bad experiences?” he asked, sitting next to me. “Really?”

“A lot of losers,” I sighed. “A lot.”

He nodded and reached his arm around me. “I hope you don’t consider me to be one of them.”

“No,” I smiled courteously. “But this was… anyway, I just don’t like it here sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Like when?”

“Like at night when I have a lot of time to think about things. I think about all the guys who’ve shared this room with me, and how they were usually just a huge waste of time. And I think about my fucked-up uterus and the men who cared about that enough to dump me because of it.”

He pulled me over and kissed my hair, even brushing a bit of it back. “Idiots,” he muttered.

“I mean, I can have kids with a surrogate,” I said. “And there’s always adoption. But someone hears you have faulty parts and they just let it outweigh all the good qualities.”

He nodded, but I wanted more than that.

“I do have good qualities, don’t I?”

When he looked at me, his eyes had formed into sea-blue darts that seemed to pierce right through me. The way he looked, it was as if he couldn’t believe I didn’t already know. And I thought I did – I thought I was so many good things and had so many good qualities, but now I wasn’t so sure. And even if I should have been, I needed to hear it. From a man. A man I loved and trusted to tell me the truth.

“Of course,” he whispered. “You know how beautiful you are? Any idea? I mean, look at you,” he said, pointing me to the full-length mirror across from the bed. “And you have a way about you, you know. You know how to make me smile, and you know how to make me feel really fucking awesome. No one has made me feel like that in a long time, Lana. I get girls who tell me I’m hot, and tell me they love my movies, but with you, I feel like you’d like me even if I was just any regular guy. And I see myself as just a regular guy, but a lot of people don’t, and I hate that. I want to be seen by everyone the way you see me.”

No one had ever told me anything like that before. It made me feel so… special.

“And you get me,” he said. “You get everything about me, even my faults. And you love them.”

“Because I love you,” I said.

He smiled, threw his arms around me, and held me closer to him. His nose met mine, and he swiped it back and forth again in a little cuddle. And then his lips – his soft, gentle lips – fell on mine and stayed there. And I kissed him as long as I could until he finally moved things in another direction.

“You’ve had a lot of bad memories in here,” he said, pacing around the room. “I think it’s about time for some good ones.”

“Oh, are you going to give me some good memories?” I asked.

He propped his knees up to the bed, crawling across it and pulling me on it with him. “I want to give you everything,” he told me. “And this seems like a pretty good place to start, don’t you think?”

We knelt there together on the bed, holding each other’s hands and looking into each other’s eyes. His fingers reached up to my face, pulling a few stray hairs back behind my ear and keeping his hands there on my face for a moment.

“This is such a cliché,” I laughed a little. “I hate clichés.”

“No you don’t,” he nodded.

“You don’t know that,” I replied. “Maybe I hate them.”

“No,” he smiled. “You’re a romantic. You like long walks on the beach and talking far into the night and moonlit dinners and roses and candlelight and romantic comedies, right?”

I chuckled a little. He wasn’t wrong.

“So now what?” I asked.

“Now, this,” he whispered, leaning forward and kissing me.

“You want to keep this cheesy stuff going?” I laughed.

“You know you like it,” he said.

And I did. Oh god, did I ever.

He laid me on the bed and climbed on top of me, and we kissed and we talked and we kissed and we talked and then we kissed some more until the sun came up.

The things we talked about weren’t the type of things that would be of any interest to anyone but us. I mean, it was boring stuff, you know. Things like school memories and favorite books and movies and design shows and food and the places we wanted to go someday. He had been everywhere and I had been almost nowhere and he was rich and I was relatively poor and he was a pessimist and I was an optimist and in just about every way imaginable we were polar opposites. Still there was something that kept him talking to me.

There was something. There just had to be.

By the time the orange beams of morning sun peeked through the rickety shades of my bedroom window, his eyes were half-closed and his face was red with laughter. Mine was too, I’m sure, but I wasn’t focused on me. Could you focus on yourself if you were lying next to him?

“Those are some loud-ass birds outside,” he chuckled.

“Oh, yeah,” I smiled, looking outside. “I have a nest on the ledge.”

“What kind?”

“Robins,” I said. “I’d have thought they’d be gone by now, but here they are, singing away.”

He stood to join me by the window, squinting when he pulled back the curtains to look outside. “I had fun last night,” he told me. “I haven’t had a night like that in a long time.”

I sat down in my window sill, my face now looking to the floor, and I sighed. “We are gonna be so beat today,” I said.

“Worth it,” he answered simply.

“You really mean that?”

He sat beside me and took my hand. “Absolutely,” he said. “I just…”

I looked over to him as his words halted suddenly, and I waited for him to continue.

“I just wish every night could be like that,” he said.

I wanted to tell him it could be. I wanted to tell him that all he had to do was say the word and I would be his, I would stay up any number of nights talking to him, and I would be that soulmate or that best friend or that whatever it was that he wanted in his life so badly.

I wanted to, but I couldn’t.

We were slightly rushed for time, and after we each quickly showered, we headed back to the hotel and started our last day in that beautiful city.

A city I had always thought of as home.

The city of late nights and long talks.

And I cried once my job was done that day. I cried for hours probably and let the tears take me to sleep, knowing I would never have another night like that ever again in my entire life.


	19. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana sees Scarlett again.

I was so close to ditching that flight out to New York. I would have done it, I swear to god, only I was desperate to see Scarlett, who had missed the Chicago trip altogether.

I ran up to her room in the hotel, the same hotel we’d stayed in a month ago, and she greeted me just as I hoped she would – with a smile, open arms, and chocolate.

“You look amazing!” I gushed. “George is certainly doing well with you.”

“It’s nothing compared to the way you look,” she smiled. “You’re like a little ray of sunshine! I mean, just look at you all cute!”

“Oh, stop,” I said, embarrassed. “You just haven’t seen me in a while.”

“Seriously, babe,” she told me. “You look incredible. Something’s different than it was a couple weeks ago.”

I tried not to smile, but slowly it erupted, and she noticed it because she noticed everything about everything.

“I’ve been happy,” I told her. “That’s all.”

“Jeremy happy?” she asked. Oh god, how did she always know?

“It might be due to Jeremy, yeah,” I said. “And at this point, I’m just too dumb to care whether or not I should be happy.”

“But you are happy,” she said. “I mean, that’s obvious. God, it’s practically written all over your face.”

I blushed, slinking over to the closet to look through the dresses and suits like they were old friends as well. “I’m crazy about that guy,” I mumbled.

She stepped up behind me and laid one of her small hands on my back. “I know you are, honey.”

“I don’t want to stop,” I said. “He’s like an addiction.”

“Yeah, love is like that,” she told me.

“No,” I spoke, turning to face her. “I’ve been in love before, and it has never been like this.”

“What makes him so different?”

“Everything,” I said. “He’s so… perfect.”

“Babe, no one’s perfect. Believe me, he and I have been friends for a long time, and he is far from perfect.”

“Well maybe not perfect,” I conceded. “But he’s perfect for me. At least, I think so.”

She handed me the box of chocolates and took one from the wrapper. “Eat this, it’ll make you feel better.”

The thing about Scarlett was that I knew she was right every time she said anything. I mean, this girl was barely older than me, yet she had been through ten times the crap I have. And in the public eye, no less. Listening to her wasn’t something I did out of obligation to a friend, but something I needed to do. There was a wisdom in her that I knew I couldn’t get anywhere else. Not without shelling out about $250 an hour.

We sat on the bed and I ate the chocolates while she told me about Miami, which was where she had been while Jeremy and I were in Chicago. She had a way of talking with her hands and making these ridiculous faces that made me laugh, and even though I valued her advice, I also just freaking loved this girl. Leaving her in the next couple of days would be almost as hard as leaving him.

“Speaking of which, I should go see him,” she said, talking about Jeremy. “It was good to catch up with ya, kid.”

I hugged her and thanked her for having me over. “Please don’t talk about me,” I said.

“I won’t,” she promised. “Jeremy doesn’t really talk about his adventures with the opposite sex,” she laughed. “He’s not like that.”

Yeah, I guess he wasn’t.

I walked to my room and sat in my chair, flipping through the stations and happy to see American television again.

But I didn’t pay attention to the TV. How could I? I stared at the screen, but I didn’t watch anything. All I could think about was home. Home, where I shared so much with him. Home, where my gramma embarrassed me in front of him. Home, where he and I stayed and talked until the sun came up, and we didn’t need sex to make good memories there.

It felt like home was not so much a place anymore, but a person. A person named Jeremy Renner.

And then there was the city and my dreams of living there that everyone I ever knew, male and female and friend and relative, told me was an empty dream. But not him. He believed in me. And dammit, did I need that.

I decided to myself that I wouldn’t cry over him anymore. Someone had told me once that the only guy who’s worth your tears will never make you cry. And for a long time, I knew this to only be true. But he wasn’t making me cry. The whole fucking situation was. I was. And the worst thing, the worst fucking thing about this whole situation was that I knew that if he were any other guy, he would want me back. But because he was famous, in the spotlight, because of whatever other reason he had concocted, we couldn’t be together. Not indefinitely.

Half of me had decided that this whole fling was exactly that – a meaningless get together and romp in the sack every now and then just for fun. But then another part of me, the part that at first wasn’t there but now seemed to take over my entire being, was telling me I needed a commitment. I had done the fooling around. I had done the one night stands and the flings. I needed something real. I needed someone to love me, to want me, to want to see me. Someone who thought about me when I wasn’t around. Someone who dreamed about me. Someone who saw things and said, “That reminds me of her!” I needed someone who wanted all of me, not just the sex. Not just the favors.

I guess I wanted someone to need me. To need me, not the things I could do for them.

I shouldn’t be so hard on him. Maybe he did have real feelings for me. I mean, he did stay up until morning just talking to me. He had remembered my favorite restaurant. He spent his day off with me for god’s sake. And something that only just then occurred to me was that he had stayed up, having gone to an interview, then out with me, then to my home, then to another interview. He had stayed up for almost 30 straight hours.

For me.

That had to mean something, right?

Sleeping that night was almost impossible. I slept a little, but I couldn’t get my mind off of him. Could you?

He was supposed to appear on the Today Show, and it would be another early morning. I collected his outfit, a casual olive green sweater and gray jeans, even bringing along his peacoat in case he would have to be outside at all, and I sighed, leaving the room realizing just how brief this trip was.

And how little time I had left with Jeremy.

A month before in that very room I was now walking to, he admitted to me that he had a thing for Scarlett. Oh, how things had changed since then. Back then, I was rooting for them. Now, she was rooting for me. Back then, he was so crazy about her, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Now, he had survived a whole three days without so much as a phone call to her. I loved her, loved him, even loved the idea of them in some ways, so long as I didn’t have to think about them when they dated. And as I reached for the door with his key in my hand, I had to smile. He was worth smiling for.

I opened the door and stepped into the darkened room, fully expecting a room full of photographers or something. I guess the fact that it was only 5 in the morning explained why it was so empty. But I expected him to be awake already at least. Clearly, he wasn’t, and I had to go to his room to find him.

I opened his bedroom door, and at first I thought I was in the wrong room. No, I couldn’t be. I had the key. But if my eyes didn’t betray me, I was seeing a woman in his bed. A brunette. A woman with luscious curves and pouty lips and…

Scarlett.

She was lying clothed in her pajamas, and he was beside her shirtless. They were both in the bed on top of the covers, just inches of space between them. Was I seeing this? Was this another dream?

I prayed for it to be a dream. Oh, god, let this be a dream!

I flipped on the light, and he awoke, spotting me, and then smiling.

“Really?” I said. “You’re gonna smile?”

That’s when Scarlett woke up. “Hey,” she said groggily.

“I – I just… I don’t even know what to say,” I screeched at what was probably an ear-splitting pitch. “How the hell could you – why would you – I…”

I couldn’t even get out the thoughts in my mind. There were too many of them! I thought she was my friend. I thought he was done with her. He told me I helped him get over her, and now here they were, two fucking peas in a fucking pod.

“Fuck you!” I shouted to him. “And fuck you, too!”

I threw his clothes on the floor and rushed out of the room. I could hear footsteps running behind me, but I didn’t turn around or slow down. I flew right past the elevator and rushed to the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time, already down a full story before I heard the door open above.

“Lana!”

It was Scarlett. I should have known he didn’t have the balls to chase me down himself.

I couldn’t turn to her. I continued on three flights down until I reached my floor, and I ran to my room and inside it as quickly as possible.

I fell against the door, finally able to cry about the situation if my anger ever turned to sorrow, which I knew it inevitably would. I pressed my palms against the door and slid my bottom to the carpet, and I rested my head on my knees, breathing cleansing breaths while I waited for…. I don’t even know what.

The knock at the door just then was too hard to be Jeremy’s. It was hers. It had to be.

“Go away!” I shouted.

“Sweetie, you’re being impossible,” she answered.

“I’m being impossible? Shut up, Scarlett, I know what I saw!”

“No you don’t,” she said calmly, and what pissed me off was that she giggled when she said it.

“It’s not fucking funny!” I shouted. “You and him were… UGH!”

“Babe, please can I talk to you about this? Come on, don’t be like that before you’ve heard the whole story.”

I had to open the door. One, because she’d stand there for fucking ever if I didn’t. And secondly, I really wanted to hear it from her. I knew she’d tell the truth, even if it was exactly what I didn’t want to hear.

“What?” I spewed when I saw her again.

She walked into the room with her arms crossed over her chest. “I had to chase you down four flights of stairs with no bra on,” she laughed. “That’s not the best feeling ever.”

I wanted to smile, but goddammit, I just couldn’t. “Just tell me.”

“We were talking,” she smiled. “That’s it. I went over there last night and talked to him. We were just super tired and we fell asleep.”

I could see her telling the truth, or else she was the best actress in the world. “Really?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Her generous smile was now beaming, and I had to smile back, realizing now I may have overreacted just a tad.

“I feel kind of silly now,” I said. “But I was pissed, you know.”

“I know. I don’t blame you.”

“Sorry,” I said, hugging her. “Wow, I just made a huge fool of myself, didn’t I?”  
“Nothing you can’t recover from,” she laughed. “He’s not gonna mention it if you don’t.”

“No? You sure?”

“He never mentioned that kiss, did he?” She laughed. “Honey, if he didn’t mention that kiss, he won’t mention all of this. I promise you.”

I sighed and sat in my chair again, grateful I didn’t waste time crying over something so ridiculous.

“Wanna know what we talked about?” she asked.

“Um, sure.” I figured she wanted to tell me anyway.

“You,” she said. “He just went on and on and on like the Energizer Bunny.”

“What do you mean? What could he have possibly had to say about me that had him talking that much?”

“He told me about your gramma,” she said. “Sounds like quite the lady, by the way.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t make a great impression, I’m afraid.”

“No, just the opposite,” Scarlett told me. “He loved her!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! And he told me Chicago has the best Greek food. Also, there was something about your cat… um… Bartholomew, I think?”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “He told you about my kitty cat?”

“Yeah, and then he told me about the city and everything you guys saw there. And he said he had the best night of his life with you that night he went to your place.”

“I think I’m gonna cry,” I gushed.

“Oh come on, Sweetie, don’t cry. I mean, I warned you about how sad it would be when this was all over, and I hate to say I told you so…”

“No, it’s not that,” I said, shaking my head. “God, I can’t believe he said it was the best night of his life.”

“Yeah. Must have been some amazing loving you gave him.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t have sex,” I said. “We just talked… kinda like you did last night. Except we talked until morning, and we didn’t sleep at all.”

“The way he kept saying it was ‘an amazing night,’ I thought you guys just had some sort of crazy sex romp,” she told me. “Wow, he talked about it for forever and all you guys did was talk?”

“Yeah,” I smiled distantly. “We just talked. And speaking of talking, you promised you weren’t gonna talk about me!”

“Believe me, I had other topics in mind. But he just kept on talking about you. The guy couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut when it came to you.”

“I… I can’t believe that.”

She sighed. “Yeah… I wish I had the power to make someone fall in love with me just by talking to them.”

“Well, he’s not in love with me,” I said.

“Yes he is, babe. He told me so.”

When she said that, I felt the tears I had almost felt before as they sprung up in my eyes and fell over my cheeks. But this time, they weren’t tears of sorrow or regret. No, these were tears of joy.

The sorrow and regret would come later, no doubt.


	20. Coming to Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana has to do some serious thinking about her relationship with Jeremy.

Scarlett literally had to hold my hand when I stepped back into his room some ten minutes later. By then, he was up and dressed, and he was combing his own hair when I walked in.

“I guess you don’t need me after all,” I said timidly.

He didn’t smile when he looked at me, but he looked over at Scarlett. “Can you give us a minute, buddy?”

She nodded and left, and I knew, I just knew he was going to tell me he loved me. It would be the perfect way to calm my feelings from earlier, and he always knew just what to say.

“What the hell, Lana?”

I tossed a curious look his way. “What?”

“You didn’t have to freak out like that.”

“I didn’t think you were still on that,” I said.

“It was just… why did you just assume that about us? Why would you assume that about me, especially?”

“Well in my defense, there wasn’t much left there for the imagination. What would you think if you found me waking up next to some guy?”  
“It wasn’t just some girl I was waking up with,” he said. “She’s my friend. You know that.”

“Yeah, and I also know that you were in love with her, Jeremy. And I know you guys were together. And I know that it wasn’t that long ago when you were telling me you’d do anything to be with her.”

“But that’s changed now!” he said emphatically. “It’s not like that anymore, Lana! You of all people should know that!”  
“Why? Why should I, of all people, know that?”

“Because I’m with you now!” he shouted. “And I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t… if… I didn’t have feelings for you!”

I paused, letting him decide if he wanted to elaborate. “What kinds of feelings?” I asked him quietly.

“This happened very quickly,” he said. “I don’t know.”

“It happened just as quickly for me,” I said, “And I know what my feelings are. Why don’t you?”

“Because we’re two different people. Two very different people. What worked for you doesn’t necessarily work for me.”

I adjusted only a small piece of his hair. “I know,” I said softly. “Silly me. I expected you to tell me how you felt.”

“I am telling you how I feel,” he said. “Or I’m trying.”

“Stop trying and just do. Tell me.”

His eyes stayed glued to mine for a moment. “I’m… confused,” he said.

“Well maybe you’re confused,” I answered. “But I’m not. I love you.”

That was his opportunity to tell me he loved me back, but he didn’t. He smiled, though, which was a nice change from the way he had been looking at me.

“Tomorrow is our last day,” I said. “I need you to sort your shit out and figure out what you want. Because tomorrow night I’m back on a flight home, and if I don’t get a straight answer by then, that’s it. Period.”

“That’s not much time,” he said. “Can’t we just do what we’ve been doing?”

“No,” I answered. “I’m not going to wait for something that might not happen. And I’m not going to give you permission to break my heart until I’m absolutely sure you won’t.”

His expression faded into some dark sadness, and his eyes, round and dark, reminded me of Annie’s, and the way she used to look at me when she begged to be touched.

“I love you, Jeremy. But I’m not gonna be an idiot this time.”

I walked to the door, so tempted to just yell that I was kidding and that of course I’d let him do what he wanted with me until he knew if he loved me or not. But my god, if he had really told Scarlett he loved me, he could tell me, couldn’t he?

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded, and I left with my heart in my throat and my knees shaking. How, how could one man have such control over me without even trying?

And why, why did I kind of enjoy it?

I was back in my room, and I sat in my bed waiting for something to do. But I had picked all of his outfits when we arrived, I had already turned in the expense reports, I no longer had to take garments for cleanings, and everything on loan had been returned. This sucked. This fucking sucked.

I was so bored, I even turned the TV on when the Today show came on. I knew Scarlett and Jeremy wouldn’t be on until the third hour, but I watched anyway. Maybe I should catch up on the events of the past month. After all, this was the first time I’d been able to watch TV with something of a clear mind.

Nothing had happened. Nothing. I mean, come on, America! No laws passed? Nobody famous died? No good movies came out?

And I kept watching until Jeremy came on. I wanted to look at him without him seeing me. Is that creepy?

Probably.

He just didn’t look right. I had seen him on several interviews lately, seen his face light up when he met up with a show’s host, how he smiled graciously through the applause, his creative entries onto the sets, and of course, his adoration for Scarlett. But they sat together in that interview, and I watched Scarlett taking over. She had to. His answers weren’t the gratuitous, charming answers he’d been coached to say, nor was his demeanor half as pleasant as usual. He sat there in that chair and listened, answering in simple yeses and nos or with nods and shrugs, and I just fell apart watching him there.

I had made him that way.

I hadn’t trusted him, and even worse, I had put him in a position he had been trying to avoid since we first got together. Hell, I had too. It wasn’t fair to him to put him in that position.

But what was fair to me? I deserved an answer. I deserved to know what he felt for me, even if it was nothing or not what I wanted to hear.

For fifteen minutes I watched them manage through an interview that they were both clearly uncomfortable in. I mean, there he was, obviously wishing to be anywhere else, and then her, hating that she had to basically do the interview herself since he wasn’t really even present except in body. I didn’t know which I felt worse about – forcing him back against a wall or throwing the burden of this whole thing on Scarlett’s beautiful shoulders.

I left to do some shopping since that seemed to be the only thing that ever cheered me up. But no matter how many Kate Spade bags or Betsey Johnson necklaces I put on my maxed-out credit card, nothing erased this feeling inside me. And the worst part was that I wasn’t even sure what it was. At least if I knew it was sorrow or guilt or anxiety, maybe I could do something to soothe it. But it was something completely foreign, something I had never felt before. Nothing I ever had to feel before.

I did everything I could to avoid going back to the hotel. I didn’t want to have to pack up my bags one last time, pick out Jeremy’s suit one last time, walk to his room in the morning…

One last time.

Bobbi wasn’t my friend, never had been, never pretended to be. She was all business, very straight-edged and conservative. But we did share three common friends: Jack, Jim, and Jose.

Now, I’m a drinker, but she makes me look like a Mormon. I don’t know if she drinks so much because she works so hard, or maybe she’s sad, or maybe she just plain old likes it and doesn’t need an excuse to drink. She’s a grown woman, after all.

“Wanna go for a drink?” I asked her.

“Who is this?” She asked. I mean, she had my number in her phone, so I’m sure she knew it was me. But maybe the fact that I was calling her about something other than work was a bit surprising.

“It’s me,” I answered over the phone. “Lana.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Um, ok… sure… where?”

“What’s good?” I asked, unfamiliar with this city.

“The Blarney Stone on 8th,” she said. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

I don’t think she was telling me to meet her in 5. I think she was just bragging about how fast she could be there to be honest.

Now listen, never in my life have I left home in anything less than my best outfit. I mean, we all have our exceptions, right? Not me. I wore my best every single day. I’m a stylist, after all. I have to look like a professional. I have to at least pretend I know what I’m doing.

But not tonight. Tonight I looked like shit.

“You look like shit,” Bobbi greeted me.

I glared at her but I couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t wrong.

“Another cooler?” she asked as I sat with her at the bar. “Or… light beer?”

“Scotch neat,” I told the bartender.  
“Scotch?” Bobbi chuckled. “Either you’re upset or you’re about to write your memoirs. Which is it?”

My face fell into my palm as I took my first sip. “Thanks for hanging out.”

“Why did you ask me to, anyway?” she asked. “We’re not friends. No offense.”

“None taken,” I said with a shake of my head. “I just needed a drink, and I hate drinking alone.”

“Well I’ve been there, so I get it,” she told me.

I continued to drink as if she weren’t there, and she did the same. Man, it must have been close to a half hour before I spoke again.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

She looked at me curiously. “Oh god,” she sighed. “What?”

“You don’t have to get all annoyed with me,” I said defensively.

She pursed her lips and raised her brows, tossing me a glance that only spoke to further annoyance. “That’s not a question,” she said.

“Ugh! Okay, here’s my question… I’ve been seeing this guy for a couple weeks now, and - ”

“Renner, you mean.”

I paused. How did she know?

“Oh please, you guys weren’t exactly James Bonding your little escapades.”

“Oh, um… ok, well… is it too much for me to ask him to tell me how he feels this soon?”

“Yes.”

“But…”

“Yes.”

“No, but I mean…”

“Lana, you can’t ask a guy to spill his guts after a couple weeks. Wake up. Life isn’t a Gene Kelly musical.”

“Yeah, but I told him I loved him already.”

She gulped down a bit more of whatever she was drinking and sighed. “Well, that’s your own dumb mistake.”

For the first time, I think it hit me that I was being a little bit unreasonable. Or maybe very unreasonable. But then again, he supposedly told Scarlett he was in love with me.

I could believe Bobbi. I could do as she said and not expect him to give me any explanation of his feelings. That certainly seemed like the fair thing to do. Still, my mind was fixed on a solution to calm the angst I felt, even if I didn’t know why I felt it or how to cure it.

“So I should just let it be over?” I asked.

She shrugged and took another sip, never looking directly at me as she answered in just half the spirit I hoped she’d have. “Look,” she said, “I’m on my third marriage in ten years. I don’t know what works, but I know what doesn’t work, okay? And the number one way to lose a guy for good is to make him tell you how he feels. It’s just not in their chemistry.”

By now I was three drinks in, drinking something stronger than I was used to. I couldn’t control my own emotions at this point, though I wasn’t quite drunk, and when I started sobbing, though I was embarrassed, I certainly wasn’t surprised.

“Oh god,” Bobbi sighed as she paid her tab. “This is my sign to leave. I don’t drink with lightweights.”

Lightweight. That’s what he always said I was.

I paid and headed out the door after her. “Hey, Bobbi!” I called loudly, even though she was only about ten feet ahead of me.

She turned to face me and I approached her, standing now just inches from her scowling, over-painted face. “I’m no lightweight,” I told her. “I mean, yeah… when I drink I am… but not about anything else.”

“Lana, I don’t care…”

“I know everyone expects me to just let him walk all over me because he’s a man and I’m a woman, but guess what? I’m not going to, okay? I put myself out there, and I’m going to ask him to too. So there.”

She turned a little, the smoke of her hot breath against the chill of the November sky a stark, waking contrast to how little she cared compared to me. “Look, not that I give a rat’s ass, but if you decide to do that, can you just do yourself a favor and not make a complete fool of yourself? Don’t be mean, okay? Guys are people, too. They’re dicks more often than not, but they’re still people. Be nice.”

“Why wouldn’t I be nice?”

“Because,” she said, turning back to the street and flagging a taxi. “You’re not great at tact. And the fact that you don’t know that is just a bit frightening.”

I think we both expected that to be the moment she stepped into a cab and drove off into the night, almost like that moment in the movie where you get the advice from the trusted friend and then they leave you in the rain and all that… but it took her another 5 full minutes to get one, and we stood together awkwardly at the curb until she finally looked back at me one last time.

“I’ll try,” I said. “Thanks.”

She nodded and left, and I wondered what exactly I was supposed to do next. I had to get back sooner or later. I had to pack and prepare for the next day’s flight. I had so much to do, so little time, and far too much alcohol in my veins. Still, I persevered back to the hotel, up to my room, and right into my bed.

And for the very last time, I laid my head on a hotel pillow. And for the very last time I believed that maybe I had a chance with Jeremy.


	21. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana's job is done. Now for the hardest part...

Have you ever woken up on the morning of a big test, or maybe a doctor’s appointment, or maybe the day you had to attend a funeral, and as soon as you realized what day it was, you just got this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach and crawled back under the covers?

Yeah?

Now multiply that anxiety and dread by about 27.

You get where I’m going with this?

As of seven that morning, I still didn’t know what my parting words to Jeremy would be. I knew I wanted to hear a certain something from him before I went back home. I knew I wanted to kiss him just once more. I knew I wanted to tell him I would always be there for him, and that he could talk to me whenever. But then I also knew that I should really handle the situation like I was ripping off a Band-Aid, quick and painful. Just tell him I loved him and leave. Tell him I loved him and leave. Tell him I loved him and leave…

I’m not much for make-up, but I piled on the foundation that morning. My eyes were so puffy and they carried such a dark tone under the skin that I had to do something to avoid being mistaken for Beetlejuice. And I knew how much Jeremy loved the natural look, but fuck it. Fuck it all.

Originally I had chosen a red dress, one that I found to be both cheery and seductive. But I no longer found that one appropriate, as I was neither cheery nor in the mood to seduce him. If I did, what good could possibly come from it?

So I chose the most basic black dress I owned, grabbed a pair of nude flats, and handled his suit, heading out the door to his room for the final time.

I stood in the elevator and looked at the couple in there beside me. They seemed so in love, so inseparable… it was disgusting. She had her hands in his pockets, he had his in her hair, she called him something like “snookems” or something equally disturbing, and a violent nausea overtook me.

Hey guys, guess what? That shit doesn’t last.

All I had to keep me company was that suit – that fine, silver, three-piece suit of sex – and though it wasn’t much, it was his. And it felt like him. It smelled like him. Everything smelled like him.

I stepped past the Disgustingtons, walked slowly to his room, and placed the key card in the slot, hesitating a moment before I unlocked the door.

Any last words, Miss Fillmore? 

But no, this was the moment my brain decided to crap out on me. I couldn’t think at all. Not even enough to cry, which I suppose I was grateful for.

David was sitting on Jeremy’s bed, going over his itinerary when I walked in. Jeremy sat shirtless beside him, positively tearing my heart in half with his tan and his muscles and his arms like lumber. He didn’t look at me, which I guess was basically what I expected, and I simply hung the suit on the closet door and sat in the main room waiting. Twiddling my fucking thumbs while I waited for him to make time for me.

But that had always been how it was with us. I waited for him as long as I needed to.

Finally I saw Jeremy emerge from the room, adjusting a black tie that matched perfectly his shirt, his vest still half-opened and floppy, and I had to smile, even only for a split second, remembering how fun it was to button – and unbutton – that vest of many buttons.

I quickly erased the smirk before he saw it, and finally he turned to me and raised his eyebrows, offering a fake but generous greeting of good morning. It wasn’t a good morning. Not for either of us.

“You like this suit, huh?” he said, no emotion on his face but plenty in his voice.

I smiled graciously. “Yes,” I said simply.

He certainly had no trouble detecting the distance in my body language, and he turned back to the mirror, where he finished dressing before sitting in the window seat. How quickly he remembered the old routine…

I think playing with his hair was worse torture than if I had kissed him. But it was fun, no matter how painful the knowledge that this was the last time was. We were close, so very close, and I could feel his breath on my neck as I combed the back of his hair. I could smell his scent, the natural, manly scent before he applied cologne. I could almost taste him, taste his tongue on mine, taste his skin between my teeth, taste the raw passion we used to share without even batting an eye.

When did this end?

“Jeremy, Cal’s on the phone,” David said, interrupting our moment. “He wants to know what time you’re scheduled to arrive on set tomorrow.”

“You should know,” he told David. “You have all the schedules.”

They bickered for a moment about who knew what, and I took as much time as possible, but by this point both of those men knew I was just stalling.

“Hey, can you give us a second?” He told David.

David nodded begrudgingly and walked into the hall, and I held my breath. I knew that if he was ever going to tell me what I wanted to hear, it would be now. And if he wasn’t going to tell me what I wanted to hear, anything else would surely be the most excruciating news of my life.

“Lana…”

“Before you say anything,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For… for rushing things, I guess. For expecting more out of you than was reasonable. And for getting so upset yesterday over something that wasn’t even a big deal. I’m just sorry in general, I guess. Sorry for the past 2 weeks, and sorry for not being professional. I’m just sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes I did,” I insisted. “I treated you unfairly. I – I fucked everything up. There wasn’t supposed to be any drama here, but dammit…”

“Really, Lana,” he told me. “It’s fine. What I want to say to you has nothing to do with that.”

I paused, my heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm and my mind beginning to clear as I had unloaded that enormous weight of guilt inside me.

“So what did you want to say?” I asked.

He pulled me gently onto the seat next to him and held my hand. “I wanted to say thank you,” he said.

Thank you? 

THANK YOU?

“You’ve shown me a lot in these weeks,” he said. “You’ve made me feel really great about myself, and you’ve always been very respectful. I’ve never had all that in one person before. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said only because what the hell else could I say?

“We’re good, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered. “We’re good.”

He leaned forward with his lips lightly puckered, and he kissed my forehead.

That bastard.

I stood and slowly grabbed my bag, making my way to the door, giving him all the time he’d need to stand and say something more if he needed to. But judging by the look of satisfaction on his face, his generally pleasant demeanor, and the lack of any desire gone finally from his eyes, I knew he was done. He was done talking, and he was done with me.

Just like it never even happened.

I opened the door, and David stepped inside, giving me a slight nod as if he understood what had just happened. And maybe he did. And maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all.

Only five steps down the hall, I heard Jeremy’s voice calling me, and my heart almost exploded. I turned around so fast it made me dizzy, and I rushed to his door to see what he could possibly want.

And I would have given him anything.

He handed me his suit jacket. “I won’t be wearing this tonight,” he said.

So he was only returning the jacket.

Marvelous.

“Anything else?” I asked.

I swear his eyes darkened a shade right there before me. He didn’t laugh at the line the way we used to. He didn’t smirk devilishly and tell me what else. He didn’t wrap me in his arms and kiss me as had been the answer to that question for some time.

“No, Lana,” he said. “Nothing else.”

And so that was it. His last words to me were that he wanted nothing else.

And therein lied the answer to all my questions for him.

In my room, I finally opened the silver jacket with the black lining, and not resisting the urge, I broke a rule and wore my client’s clothing. It was only a jacket, a jacket I had bought long ago with my tears. A jacket that wasn’t even that to me anymore. A jacket that reminded me not only of our first night together, but of all our nights together. Of him. Of every kiss and every hug and every pleasuring thrust into my body, every shiver and shake, every drop of sweat, every longing look, and every…

Everything…

In six hours I would be on a flight home. And I swore to all the gods in hearing range I would never, not so long as I lived, love another man as much as I loved the one who wore that jacket.


	22. Last Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana gets and unexpected opportunity.

Bags packed, shoes on, goodbyes said, more or less.

Time to head home.

My flight was at 4 PM, and I wondered how long I could procrastinate, how long I could stall before I had to go. Jeremy and I were in the same city still, technically breathing the same air, and I knew I would never have that again. And that killed me.

The passers-by rubbed shoulders with me perhaps accidentally, and I found ignoring them to be easier than I had anticipated. Ignoring everything was easy now that Jeremy was the only thought on my mind. I was still sitting waiting to board when my phone rang. Sure, I was here a little earlier than I had to be, but I had to be somewhere. Anywhere that wasn’t with him since that was the one place I could no longer stay.

When I glanced at my phone, fully intending to ignore it since I was in no mood to speak to anyone, I saw Scarlett’s name on the ID. I could have ignored it, but then I knew she would understand me more than anyone, and maybe talking to her would be better for me than the alternative.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe, you haven’t left yet, have you?” She asked.

“No,” I answered. “Flight doesn’t leave for another hour yet.”

“Awesome. Look, I have a real problem,” she told me. “My dress tore straight down the back, and I need a new one. And George already went home, so I need you. Please.”

“You’ll need to get me a new flight,” I said.

“You got it, kid,” she smiled. “Now look, I know you don’t have the company card anymore, so I can send a car to get you at the airport and bring you mine. I’m on in 2 hours, and I need this ASAP, so hurry!”

I headed outside to wait for the car, and when it arrived, I had mixed emotions about this task. On the one hand, I was glad to see Scarlett again, glad to be working for her one last time. But on the other hand, I might have an awkward run-in with Jeremy at the studio, and I wondered what the best way to avoid that might be.

Because there was no way in hell I could face him again.

Between her card and a conveniently located Neiman-Marcus, I found a gorgeous little black dress and red tailored blazer that would be perfect for her. And then I ran into the studio, struggling to convince security that I had proper backstage clearance. And with ten minutes to spare, Scarlett was looking smart in her new outfit, and was practically kissing my feet thanking me.

“You good now?” I asked her, forcing a smile as I remembered Jeremy was just one dressing room away.

“I think so,” she told me. “You wanna hang out here until I can get a flight for you, or do you want to hang out in my hotel room?”

“Uh… I guess I’ll stay here.”

“Ok,” she winked. “And since Jeremy’s not on for another hour, maybe you can go have a little chat with him.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Believe me, he doesn’t want to see me.”

“Oh god, Lana, what did you do now?”

“Nothing!” I insisted. “It’s just that we already said our goodbyes and he made it very clear he wanted nothing more from me.”

“He said that?” Scarlett asked.

“He said thank you,” I told her. “And then he said goodbye.”

She paced a minute before the set makeup artist entered the room to prep her for the camera. “That just doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, I thought he said he loved me?”  
“He did,” she said. “He told me a couple times, actually.”

“Well if it were true, he could say it to me himself.”

“Why don’t you just drop by and say hello,” she suggested. “He’d love to see you, I just know it.”

The thought of seeing him was excruciating, but at the same time it was incredibly tempting. Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Maybe it might help bring me closure.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to annoy him with my presence. If he wants to see me, he can see me on his own time.”

“Five minutes, Ms. Johansson.”

“I need to get out there,” she said. “I understand if you don’t want to see him, but I really do think he’d like to see you.”

“Not enough,” I answered. “Clearly.”

She shifted her lips to the side and widened her eyes, trying to urge me one more time. But no. No, I just couldn’t.

When she walked out, I looked around at the small room with its photos of past guests, autographs and little messages, and I thought about how it must be to be a celeb. It must be so easy, so lush, so extravagant. How nice it must be to have so much money and power that you can freely choose who is good enough to stay in your life and who will only weight you down! How nice it must be for Mr. Renner to decide not to be in love because his career is more important than getting into a relationship! And what was his excuse? That it was too hard to maintain a successful love life and a successful career? Bullshit!

“Hey, you got an extra copy of the itinerary?”

I turned to the voice that spoke, a familiar, husky voice I’d know anywhere. And there he stood, half of his body inside the door, one silver-clad leg peeking from the bottom half of the door while one massive hand clenched the wall. I wasn’t sure if he was coming in, but if he was planning to, he stopped when he saw me.

“Jeremy,” I spoke softly once I was able to react.

“Hey,” he answered back almost in a whisper. “What are you doing here?”  
“Scarlett needed me,” I told him. “Wardrobe malfunction.”

He nodded and smirked a bit. “Ok,” he said as he looked me in the eye and neither of us could seem to break the stare. “Do you happen to know if she has a copy?”

I stood and walked to her dressing table. “Uh, I don’t see one,” I answered.

He entered the room and stood beside me, sifting through the items in the gift bag. “Yeah, doesn’t look like she has one.”

“Is there something you needed to know?” I asked. “There are stagehands everywhere if you wanted to ask.”

“Nothing important,” he said. “Just wondering who the musical guest is tonight.”

I smiled up at him as he stood so close our arms touched. “I don’t know,” I answered in a chuckle. “That’s kind of a funny thing to wonder about, isn’t it?”

“I’m curious,” he chuckled back.

I wanted to just jump on top of him, tackle him to the ground, rip his clothes off, and say goodbye the right way. I wanted to sink my lips into his. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair not because I was styling him, but because it was a sensation that thrilled me. I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and ride him into the sunset, close us up in that room and shut away the world forever.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not anymore.

“I’ve got a while before I’m on,” he said. “You wanna hang out in my dressing room?”

“I think maybe I shouldn’t,” I said.

“Come on, why not?”

“Are you kidding? You know why not.”

“I thought we were good,” he said.

“We are. But if I go in there with you we might not be anymore.”

“How so?”  
I sighed and held back tears. How could he be so stupid? How could he not know?

“I have spent the last few hours being done with all this,” I said. “I had to so that I could go home with peace of mind about the whole… experience. And I think if I talk to you some more, it’s not exactly going to help me be done. I think if anything, I’ll just fall in love with you more. And I don’t want to be in love with you anymore.”

Finally I saw the words I said sort of becoming real to him. His expression became somber, and his body language, slumped and tense, one foot stepping toward me while one stayed planted firmly back, pointed out that perhaps he felt my pain, even if only slightly. Anything he could make himself feel for me was all I needed to have before I left. It was all I had ever needed.

For him to feel me.

He turned slowly, and I thought he was going to leave. But instead he bolted the door and approached me again, kneeling in front of me and placing his hands on my thighs.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”

A tear escaped my eye and I reached one hand to touch his cheek. “It’s not your fault,” I managed.

“I hurt you. I can’t… I can’t believe I did that.”

“Jeremy…”

“Lana, you are so… so special to me.”

“Stop.”

“No, you should know…”

“I said stop!”

His eyes settled on the floor, maybe in shame, or maybe to hide the emotions he felt manifesting.

“Jeremy, I wasn’t even going to talk to you tonight, but now that you’re here, I need to tell you everything, okay? I just need to get it all off my chest.”

He looked back up, still kneeling, still resting his hands on my legs, gripping slightly as he grazed my thighs.

I searched for the words, the perfect way to tell him what I felt, and I couldn’t think of a way. I had told him I loved him more times than I could count. Surely he was sick of hearing that. Besides, it’s not like those words could convince him to love me back. If they could, he would have done so weeks before.

“Do you remember when we met?” I asked.

He was obviously trying to remember, and after a second he was successful. “It was in Cannes,” he mumbled under a smile.

I nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t even supposed to be working with you. But the usual guy didn’t show up, and there I was with the task of finding you a tux in just a few hours’ notice.”

He laughed a bit. “You poor thing,” he chuckled. “I remember how nervous you were, too.”

“You remember what the first thing you said to me was?”

He thought for a moment. “Not exactly.”

“I was so scared that you were gonna go crazy and totally just rip me a new one, you know. I figured you’d be pissed about the whole ordeal and take it out on me as soon as you saw me. But then I walked in that dressing room, and you hugged me…”

I had to wipe away more tears just then. The memories were killing me.

“…And you said, ‘Thank you. You saved me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’”

His smile began to fade, and I could see he knew just where I was going with this.

“You know, I have tried for about a week now to find a way to explain exactly what you mean to me. I have told you I love you, but that’s not anything special, is it? I mean, how many women tell you they love you? I’m guessing a lot. So I wanted to find a way to explain it. And the best way I could think to do that was to quote you.”

He moved his hand to mine, holding it tightly as I continued.

“I never loved anyone like I love you. No one has ever made me so happy, made me so confident, stood up for me the way you have. You gave me so much, Jeremy. You gave me memories. You gave me everything, and…”

He now held both of my hands. And there I sat before him, crying my friggin’ eyes out, wondering how I even ended up here like this.

“Thank you,” I said, quoting him. “You saved me. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

At these words, he sprang up closer to me. He held my hands still, but he brought them closer to him. He closed his eyes and I did the same because I knew what was about to happen. And when he kissed me, I felt something I had waited to feel for days now. Something I hadn’t felt since the last time he kissed me.

Calm.

I pulled my hands from his and threw them around his neck. I felt the jagged edges of his hairline, hair I had cut just a while before, hair that needed a professional desperately. One of my hands crept down the front of him, grabbed a hold of his vest, slid down the front, and fell on the buttons. I didn’t open them, but I felt them, felt every single one, caressed them, caressed him, and I waited for him to pull away, but he didn’t.

He always had before, but he didn’t now.

I felt his hand now sliding up my dress. I could feel the callouses of his hands against my skin, and even though I hadn’t shaved in a couple days, neither of us seemed to care. But why was I even thinking about that? Jeremy, my Jeremy, was touching me again. He was pressing me against that chair, showing me how badly he wanted me to stay. And I would have stayed. I really would have. But I needed to go. I needed him to go his way while I went mine. And why?

Because he hadn’t told me what I needed to hear.

It wasn’t enough for him to want me. He needed to need me. He needed to think of me when I wasn’t around and realize how important I was. He needed to tell me something about his feelings, even if it wasn’t that he loved me. He just had to make me feel like I was as different from anyone else as he was. He had to say something. I didn’t know exactly what I needed to hear, but I had to hear something. Almost anything would suffice.

And so I pushed him back lightly, my fingertips pressed into the skin of his chest, my eyes too clouded to take a good final look at him. “Goodbye, Jeremy,” I said.

He grabbed my wrist when I stood, but I pulled it away. I couldn’t look back at him. I couldn’t see the look in his eyes or the expression on his face lest it cause my knees to weaken and my legs to quiver. I would not chase him anymore. I had always been the pursuer in relationships. I needed him to pursue me if he wanted me.

I knew he wouldn’t, but at least I had taken a stand.

I could hear him calling my name as I rushed down the hall. I knew he wouldn’t chase me since he only had five minutes before he had to get on set. I had chosen the right time to leave, and I turned the corner, running into the bathroom until I knew Scarlett’s interview was done.

She didn’t ask why I was crying because I think she knew. She simply told me where to get my ticket home and hugged me goodbye.

She had no problem telling me she loved me, apparently.

She promised to keep in touch, to call me when she was home and see how I was doing. And I knew for a fact she would keep that promise. That’s just the kind of gal she is.

But something I could say now was that I had done everything I could. I had said everything I needed to say, and he hadn’t reciprocated. I’m sure he had feelings for me, but he didn’t have the same feelings I did.

And that’s fine. At least I knew that.

The skyline of my beloved city was lit up like a Christmas tree when we landed in the city. The streets were so familiar, the buildings just as breathtaking as ever. In my hometown, my apartment stood just as unassuming as ever. Annie came to greet me as always. Gramma was home and hugged me and made me hot chocolate while we talked. And then she left, and I changed into my pajamas and fell into the bed I had missed so much. When my head hit the pillow, it propelled the scent of us from a few days before, reminding me of what was missing. I tried to sleep, but it was impossible considering the tears that wouldn’t rest. They fell into the sheets and soaked around me, and in the morning, like clockwork at the crack of dawn the robins on my window ledge sang out at the tops of their lungs.

And something was missing. Something bewitching and wonderful and beautifully torturous.

I was in my house, but I wasn’t home.


	23. The Harsh Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will Lana cope with life after Renner?

I used to volunteer for an addiction relief center. While I was there, the counselors use to tell us that it takes only 30 days to pick up a habit, but up to 90 days to drop it.

I don’t know if that’s true for all addicts, but I can tell you that it certainly applied to my Jeremy addiction.

It had only been a week since I had left Jeremy in his dressing room on the set of David Letterman’s TV show. In that week, I had eradicated all posters from my room, painted it a shade of whisper gray, and taken Bartholomew for his yearly checkup. I had kept as busy as possible trying to reorganize my life. I was trying to set up a new pattern. A new me.

Every once in a while I would glance at my phone, so sure I had heard it ring that I would even look through my call history to see if I had missed something. Maybe he had called. But then again why would he?

I knew through eavesdropping that he was currently filming a movie in Texas, and I knew just how big a production it was. Any hope of hearing from him for the next several weeks would be futile. And Scarlett was working on a project as well, so I couldn’t even consult a buddy to cheer me up.

And as far as my love life, I’m afraid it was just me and my vibrator and a few key memories of Jeremy to get me through each day.

I’m not proud of the kind of person I became in relation to Jeremy. I mean, I had promised him, promised everyone including myself, that I would not pursue him. And I didn’t. But I may or may not have stalked him a bit online.

I set a Google alert for news on him. I read fan fiction every day and smiled at the few that got his personality just right, the ones that seemed to know him better than I did.

And maybe the authors did. How would I know?

I trolled his fanbase, listened to stories from elated fans who’d met him. I remembered how I had been the same way. Hell, some of the “crazy” fans behaved much better than I did.

I never confessed the whole truth about Jeremy to my Gramma. I told her we were dating, which isn’t exactly untrue, but that we had broken up because we lived so far away. Gramma encouraged me to go to Texas, to find Jeremy and beg for him. But I wasn’t going to beg anyone. I deserved to have a man who wanted me just as badly for once.

I wasn’t a churchgoer, never really have been, but I tagged along with my Gramma when she went to the Thanksgiving mass. For me, it didn’t have to do with religion as much as tradition, and I knew how sick my Gramma was. Who knows how many more Thanksgivings we would have?

I think this had to be the most pathetic Thanksgiving dinner I’d ever eaten. Usually I had an aunt and uncle, a couple cousins, and a friend or two to join me. But this year, due to my uncertain plans and lack of planning time, it was just me and Gramma and the turkey. Too much turkey for any two people to eat.

My Gramma had this crazy idea to volunteer at the homeless shelter that evening, and though the thought had never been appealing, I decided to do it. Maybe doing some good would help me forget.

But the point of charity shouldn’t be self-serving. I know that.

Seeing people worse off than me was sobering. Here my worst problem was that a celebrity didn’t love me. These people I served slices of canned turkey to had problems like not knowing which bridge to park their cardboard box under or which trash can to hunt for that evening’s dinner in.

I needed to wake up to reality.

And another week past. Then another. And in two weeks it would be Christmas, the worst holiday of them all. Well, except maybe Valentine’s Day.

With candles lit to expel the fresh paint fumes from the apartment, I relaxed on the couch with my well-worn copy of The Boys Of Summer, reading about the sport I loved, the sport which would return for spring training in just 3 months. I considered attending Soxfest again for the first time since college, and then I decided not to. I couldn’t go back to that hotel. Not yet.

The first snow fell in true Chicago form, blanketing the earth with 4 inches within an hour’s time. I hadn’t seen anything like this in years, but it was still quite pleasant. Everything looked so clean and bright outside my window. The frozen pond shimmered so brightly I couldn’t look at it without sunglasses, and the birds on my sill had finally flown away for respite from the cold.

I wished I had it so easy.

I met a guy named Frank while I was working in the soup kitchen. He was pretty cute and obviously had a big heart, and when he asked me out I said yes. Oh, I admit at first it was only so that I could take the first step in getting over Jeremy, but I ended up really liking the guy. No, it was no love-at-first-sight, but it was affectionate and deep. He was more interested in my personality than getting in my pants.

That was certainly a change.

We’d been on four dates by the time Christmas finally rolled around, and the thought of sleeping with him was certainly prevalent in my mind. But I was waiting for someone to make a better memory with me than Jeremy had made. I knew that wouldn’t happen with Frank. And until it did, I couldn’t invite another man into my bedroom.

Frank promised to wait as long as possible, and so I thanked him for that. Finally, a real gentleman.

On Christmas morning, I awoke to no presents, no tree, no music. I always spent Christmas this way, cooped up in my apartment with a bottle of Drysack. And then the next day, I would go out and take advantage of the after-holiday sales. And I would gain roughly ten pounds of pure chocolate Santa bars.

I received a job offer from a small news organization for a week during New Year, styling the reporters as they would be on TV for fundraisers for PBS. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but it was a job, a solid paycheck, and an opportunity to focus on something other than the men who were slowly but surely ruining my life.

At the stroke of midnight, I stood with Frank on Navy Pier and overlooked the endless lake, admiring the fireworks and the brilliant reflections shining off the surface of the frozen water. And Frank, the perfect gentleman and the perfect friend, cradled me in his arms and kissed me.

And that was when I knew I wanted to take him home. Finally.

Look, I didn’t write this story just to brag about my little tryst with Jeremy. I didn’t do it because it has the perfect ending. I did it because I wanted to talk about love in all its forms.

I had the love of a friend, Scarlett, a woman who never needed to even acknowledge my presence. I don’t know why she ever decided to befriend me, especially considering I was a blasted fool who didn’t seem to know when to shut her mouth. But she became my friend, she encouraged me, and she even seemed to want me to be with Jeremy in the end. But only if it made me happy. She encouraged me to follow my heart, to believe in myself. She was the only person who ever did.

And I had Jeremy. I don’t know if he loved me, but he certainly cared for me. He taught me so many things – patience, self-acceptance, priorities. He was everything I needed in that moment. And even if I thought it would be forever, even if I was still having a hard time imagining what life would be like without him, he had helped me to choose my moments wisely. And I like to think maybe I helped him a little, too, in some small way.

And now I had Frank. No, he wasn’t the dreamboat, the hunk, the millionaire celebrity. He was just normal and average and down-to-earth. He was everything I needed in my present. He was the perfect person to help me get over Jeremy.

Maybe I was using him a little.

God, I hoped not.

When we arrived back at my apartment, Frank and I rushed up the stairs and barely made it inside with our shirts still on. We wrestled on the couch, a flailing mess of limbs, and his kisses fell on my mouth so sweetly, so tenderly, that I cried.

No seriously. I cried.

He stopped kissing me, back off a bit, and allowed me to sit up. “What’s wrong, beebee?”

I tried to smile. God, I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t. He was so sweet, he was so good to me. And there I was using him as a way to recover from the love of my life.

Because that’s what Jeremy was. I didn’t really realize it until now, but there was no denying it. I had never loved anyone like him before, and I never would love like that again.

I sent Frank away, sobbing all the while. He said he understood, but I don’t see how he could have. It must have been embarrassing for him, but I wasn’t going to be the kind of woman to use and abuse. Especially not after it had been done to me so many times.

Maybe I would always be in love with Jeremy. Maybe I would never get over him. Maybe… maybe… a lot of things would never change.

Let me leave you with a little lesson I learned, gals out there. Don’t chase them down. I mean, a little chasing might be necessary, but at the end of the day, we should feel wanted. I think as women we tend to let ourselves get stomped on because that’s just how it’s supposed to be, it seems. Women pursue men, men decide the ultimate fate of the relationship. Women are powerless.

And that’s fucking bullshit.

No one, not even Jeremy Lee Renner, is worth making yourself a fool for. Not forever. Not infinitely. I mean, stuff’s bound to happen, but when you’ve expressed your feelings and he hasn’t reciprocated, that’s all you can do.

I wasn’t over Jeremy Renner, but I was done with him. I had decided that some time ago. And before I could mature enough for a real relationship, I needed to recover from the one I’d just been in.

Well, I guess that’s about all there is to my story. I covered all the important parts, explained the love romps and the casual dates and the tender moments and the excruciating ones as well. I’ve told you the lessons I’ve learned and the ones I hope you’ll learn from this as well. I think I’ve done all there is to be done.

Yeah.

And on the second week of January, a week where my schedule was completely empty of duties and my mind was clear of any thoughts that might convince me to stay home yet again and weep, I decided to take a walk. Yes, it was snowy and cold and bitter, and yes, it would have been more comfortable to stay inside. But I believed the cold would help clear my mind.

And it did.

I must have been outside for two hours, probably catching my death. I had noticed that poor Annie wasn’t around. I assumed the cold had gotten to her, maybe. Or perhaps she actually did have an owner who kept her indoors during the winter. Though I remember seeing Annie out lately. I just had to hope for the better option. I couldn’t bear to believe anything bad could happen to that weird little dog.

I opened the door to my building, began walking up the stairs, and instantly smelled something pleasant. Gone was the stale mystery smell, and present was the distinct aroma of Athens Elite. Gramma always knew what cheered me up, and the fact that I knew she was just waiting up there for me with a gyro and fried mushrooms gave me a smile that few things in the world could.

But it wasn’t Gramma. No, I had barely peeked around the stairs when I noticed those shoes, sturdy black ones that I would never have dressed him in. He wore a long black coat and a green scarf, gray

Corduroy pants, and the most important thing he ever wore – steel blue eyes that framed a smiling face of perfect teeth.

I wanted to call his name, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak. I could move.

He cleared his throat and stood when he saw me. “Sauce on the side, feta on top,” he told me, handing me the bag.

I couldn’t reach for it. Refer to the second to last paragraph before this for the reason.

“Look, Lana, I know this is unexpected, but…”

“Yeah,” I interrupted, finally able to speak. “Yeah, it is.”

“I thought maybe you’d like some lunch.”

I finally took the bag from him and walked up beside him.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “You look incredible.”

“What did you expect?” I asked. “That I’d be all broken and haggard over you?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course not.”

“Thanks for the sandwich,” I smiled. “It was nice to see you.” I reached the key to my lock and opened my door. “Have a good day, okay?”

“Wait! Come on, Lana. Let me come in and talk to you, please.”

“Why?”

“Because I flew three thousand miles. You can at least give me thirty minutes.”

I nodded and let him in. I wanted to all along, anyway.

As soon as I’d closed the door, I sat on my couch and welcomed him to sit beside me. I placed the sandwich on my coffee table and began to eat. I still cared about him, and I even cared about what he’d say. But… one doesn’t just let a gyro so magnificent grow cold while one listens to a boy explain his bad behavior. Simple as that.

“Lana, you mean the world to me. You know, I knew that all along, I really did. But I didn’t say it because I knew we were just temporary, and I didn’t want to waste your time.”  
“It didn’t have to be temporary,” I said. “I gave you chance after chance to change that.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “And I should have listened to you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I want to change that now.”

“And why?”

“Because I love you, Lana.”

I wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of beauty with my mouth full of onions and cucumber sauce, but I froze in place as I looked at him. His eyes were the kind of gray they got when he was upset, and his hands held each other so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Slowly I swallowed the bits of sandwich. I wasn’t going to eat the rest. Not now.

“Seriously?”

“You came into my dressing room that day we first met,” he said. “And you remember everything that I said to you. But do you remember what you said to me?”

I shook my head. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall.

“You said, ‘Mr. Renner, today is turning out to be the best day of your life now that I’m here.’”

I blushed, or at least I think I did. Either that or heartburn was setting in.

“And Lana, you are the best day of my life every day.”

I wondered if he’d stolen that line from a movie or a song, but it didn’t matter. Holy shit, none of it mattered.

“Lana, I’ll be honest with you. I can’t promise you forever. Not after only a couple weeks of being with you. But I can promise you that if you can put up with my shit like you always have, I will promise you every today. I thought I couldn’t balance a successful relationship and a successful career, but with you I want to try. And I’ve never wanted to try. I’ve always been too scared. You make me feel invincible, like I can do anything. You remind me to come back down to earth and spend some time with you because you’re better than every fantasy out there. Acting was my escape from the world’s horrid realities, but now I know that there are some things in the real world that are worth living for. And you, Lana… you’re one of them. Maybe you’re the only one.”

I bit my lip, trying to control the rush of tears. I had questions and doubts and insecurities. But here he was asking for a chance – just a chance. Surely I could give him that.

“I wanna be with you. I want to sleep next to you and wake up next to you and make you terrible breakfasts and fight about football with you. I want to show you off and show you around and know all your family and friends. I want to take you places, be taken places by you. I want you Lana. I want all of you, every day for an indefinite amount of time. And maybe someday we’ll get married. Who knows? Maybe we’ll adopt a million kids. Maybe. But I know for sure that I want to be with you, Lana. I can’t go one more day where I smell coconut and think about your shampoo, or I see some cute dress in a shop window and imagine how you’d look in it. I don’t want to pick out my outfits every day wondering if you’d approve. I want you to be there to tell me. And not because you’re getting paid to. You wanted me to need you, Lana. Well, I do. I need you. I want you. Please.”

He certainly hadn’t wasted a minute of his time telling me how he felt. I had to have a moment to think about it. He wasn’t promising forever, but he said he could see forever maybe happening someday. He didn’t care about my faulty parts or my awkwardness or my lame excuse of a personality or my querks and kinks. He loved me.

My god, he loved me.

I smiled at him, and finally he smiled again. I hadn’t said yes with my voice, but he could read it from my eyes.

“You’re supposed to be in Texas right now.”

“Yeah,” he smiled a bit. “They’ll be pissed. Whatever.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“I don’t care,” he said.

“Well can you tell me something? What made you change your mind?”

He sighed and looked to the ground. “Honestly, I knew all along. I was scared, but I knew. And then there was that morning when you thought Scarlett and I were… um… well, anyway it scared me. That was the first time I really realized what it would feel like losing you, and it scared me. I knew then that I couldn’t lose you. And then I was trying to find a way to convince you how I felt the way you convinced me, and to be honest I’ve had these lines in my head for two months, but…”

He held my hands in his. The tears tumbled over my cheeks, and I swear to the gods he was crying, too.

“But I couldn’t live one more day in that misery.”

“Tell me you love me one more time,” I whispered.

“I love you, Lana,” he answered.

I held him in my arms and promised him today. And I would promise him every today that we would wake up to for as long as life endured.

\--------

THE END


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